


Food diaries

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Our heroes contemplate food and relationships.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: J/D from Josh's POV. Mild references to ITSOTG II, The Cold and WTWYA  


* * *

Title: Fries  
Series: Food Diaries  
Author: BrusselsSprout  
Pair/Rating: J/D, PG  
Spoilers: does it matter at this point?  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.

Notes: J/D - Josh's POV. The idea for this fic occurred to me while watching WTWYA. There is very little in the way of J/D in this episode, but there is a moment where they sit across from each other on the bus and appear to be sharing food. It was just an oddly comfortable moment considering the unresolved ending of The Cold.

French fries were the first food they ever shared. It was their second night in Charleston, and they were working late. He had ordered some hamburgers and fries. She insisted that she didn’t want any food.   
They were sitting in his makeshift office, sifting through piles of polling data. Josh was explaining the importance of the numbers and Donna was making tidy little index cards of the salient details using colour codes for issues and voter groups. She reminded him watching Joanie one afternoon a lifetime ago, sitting at the kitchen desk with markers of all the colours of the rainbow, preparing a school project, sticking her tongue out in concentration, trying to ignore her little brother pestering her to play with him.   
Josh noticed with amusement that Donna was picking fries out of his plate. She seemed unaware of what she was doing, like it just came naturally. There was an intimacy to eating from someone else’s plate that usually didn’t happen after 48 hours of knowing each other. Still, Josh kind of liked that the quirky girl that waltzed into his life and appointed herself as his assistant felt at ease with him.  
At first he was surprised at himself that he even considered giving her a job, as she seemed pretty flaky with her many majors and her fake confidence, but underneath the craziness, there was something else, a quiet determination, pride, and desperation for a second chance. Someone unwilling to give up faith that people tend to be good, rather than evil, against all evidence to the contrary. A faith that prompted her to jump in her car and drive the 1000 miles in search of something to believe in, instead of settling for a giant tub of ice cream, some booze and a near-lethal dose of romance movies like most heart-broken girls her age would. He couldn’t bear to shatter that faith. There was something pure about her desire to affect change in the world while making a clean start, an innocence that he thought he had lost long ago, jaded by his years of DC politics. But when he looked at her, he felt a glimpse of it, and it seemed like something worth clinging to. So he went to Leo, and convinced him to squeeze her into the Charleston trip on a probationary basis.  
‘Donna, you know, you’re eating my fries?’ his voice was full of fake indignation.  
‘Well, they are bad for you. So I’m only trying to keep you healthy. If I eat half of them, they are only half as bad for you.’ She shot back at him. No amount of Ivy League education had prepared him to come up with a witty answer to that.  
‘Ok’. He said lamely.  
‘You should explain to me why we care so much about the voter preferences of white males.’  
‘Or, you could just write down the numbers I tell you.’  
‘Sure, but then you’d lose the opportunity to hone your argument for tomorrow’s staff meeting.’  
‘And you wouldn’t be able to steal most of the fries while I’m talking. Don’t think that I didn’t catch onto your devious plan.’   
‘I’m just looking out for you.’ she said with a toothy grin.   
He smiled back and started an impromptu lecture about the importance of independent voters and realized that explaining things to her was indeed giving him clarity; it was an anchor to the everyday reality that needed to be remembered. The truths and issues that were simple and fundamental at once, just like French fries.

 

They were now hundreds of French fries later, some are memorable, some are forgotten. And of course, there were those bleak months when no one picked at his French fries, and he never seemed to be able to finish his plate. After a while he just stopped ordering them.  
After Lou hired her, they just didn’t know how to talk again. They couldn’t keep up a conversation without one of them snapping or making a hurtful comment. They knew too well how to hurt each other. So he kept avoiding her, even though he noticed she was trying to patch things up. One night, when he was in the hotel diner working late, munching on a charred burger and some fries, she came in. She hesitated a little before sitting down across from him.   
‘How did it go?’ He asked.   
‘The Congressman did really well. God, I’m fried and starving. Do you think the kitchen is still open?’   
‘No. They were already closing when I ordered’ He said and then he pushed his plate of fries towards the middle of the table as a postmodern peace-offering and kept reading, watching her from the corner of his eye. She wordlessly picked up a piece and opened her organizer to go through the next day’s schedule. They ate in silence, which for the first time in a long while wasn’t frosty and uncomfortable. So that’s how healing starts, he thought, with a plate of French fries.

 

And now four days before the election, he is sitting in the utter chaos of the campaign bus with a phone on his ears. When he looks up, he realizes that she’s sitting across from him immersed in some conversation on her mobile, and they absent-mindedly pick French fries from the same plate. He has no idea how the plate had got there, or how long he has been sitting there in the limbo of being on hold with Russell. Everything is hazy, his brain is in a fog of sleepless nights, his blood has long been replaced by caffeine from too much coffee, and he’s running on adrenaline only. But sharing the plate with her gives him a moment of peace, a moment of sanity. It feels good, comforting even. Then he shifts his legs and their knees touch; desire rushed over him and he feels a tingling of anticipation. He’s certain it’s going to happen soon. They crossed the line with that sweet kiss and he doesn’t think either of them would be satisfied to leave it like that. It will all change soon. And the thought terrifies and excites him in equal amounts. Soon, he thinks, as he forces himself to focus on the myriads of tasks at hand. For now, they have finished the French fries.


	2. Olives

  
Author's notes: Donna contemplates olives and fairy tales, and her relationship with Josh. Mild sexual references. Takes place throughout the series - pre-series, 20 Hours in LA, Dead Irish Writers, Gaza, The Cold, Election Day, Requiem, Transition  


* * *

Title: Olives  
Series: Food Diaries  
Author: BrusselsSprout  
Pair/Rating: J/D, Mature with some adult themes  
Spoilers: does it matter at this point?  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.

Notes: J/D - Donna's POV. 

Olives taste sophisticated and slightly decadent, she thought. Like making love on a beach. She had never made love on a beach, but that’s how she imagined it would taste like.  
She had them at a fundraiser she went to during the first campaign. Dressed like a fairy tale princess, she drank champagne and ate olives and watched the party. She was slightly light-headed from the drinks. Finally her gaze found Josh and for the first time she wondered if he would taste like olives; slightly salty, dark, and earthy. She had a hunch he would. She quickly dismissed the thoughts. She came back to the campaign because she wanted to prove herself, because she wanted to be valuable and valued, she wanted to make a contribution. She didn’t want to be the pathetic girl on the rebound having a crush on her boss. He was a nice guy. A very nice guy, even. In public, he put up a show of mocking her, bickering with her, and she readily played along, but in their private moments, when nobody saw them, he was usually very sweet. And he treated her with a respect which she didn’t feel for herself.  
‘Wake up, Cinderella!’ Her reverie was broken by his voice.  
‘It’s Sleeping Beauty, who needs to be woken up. Cinderella needs a ride. Didn’t they teach this in your fancy schools?’  
‘You want to make sure you leave before you turn into a pumpkin?’  
‘Only if a handsome prince delivers my shoe tomorrow. How much did you drink? You know, you have to be careful with your delicate system..’  
‘Stop saying that Donna. You make me sound like a wimp. The guys want to leave in 10 minutes, we already ordered a taxi. We need to work on the strategy for next week, and you need to come back to the office with me.’  
‘You’re definitely not the prince.’ She pouted. ‘More like the frog, or the dragon that keeps the princess chained to the office desk.’  
‘No Donna, I’m obviously the knight who slays the Republicans. Don’t they teach that story in Wisconsin, tonto?’ he smirked.

***  
Over time she has mastered the art of suppression, misdirection and cover-up. She dismissed her feelings of lust and desire by enthusiastically chasing the pipe-dream of romance, knowing full well that it’s not going to happen. Every guy was missing something; the sexy arms, the gentle eyes, the smarts, the swagger, the funny. Something was always missing, but she held her head high and continued to play it cool.  
She playfully teased him about his crushes, but her heart broke every time he made a half-assed attempt to chase after Joey Lucas. That night in L.A., with the taste of champagne and olives on the tip of her tongue, she played the dumb, blonde, drunk fan girl swooning over the Hollywood types, because she didn’t want him to know that all she wondered about was him and olives.   
When he started dating Amy, she died a little every day. She felt like the Little Mermaid, Andersen’s original, not the Disney one. The one, who saved the drowning prince, but the prince didn’t notice her. All her love was in vain, and she died heartbroken. At the night of the First Lady’s birthday, when she was sitting lonely in his office in a ball-gown, feeling like a regular Cinderella banished from the ball, and he appeared and brought her a drink and olives, she wondered if it was fate mocking her. Maybe he was really her knight; after all he saved her from the bleak destiny of being a Canadian.   
Or there was the night where she was more like Goldilocks, locked in the tower of her own stupidity of trying to earn the love of a guy by sacrificing herself yet again, and there he came on the shining yellow cab, with his dimples and his snowballs and his slightly drunk and very amused fellow musketeers, to redeem her. And she realized that he was angry not just at her, but for her, that she still couldn’t let go of the fairy tales, that she still believed that you get love by giving everything up, including yourself. That night when they danced, he held her very close and tight, he spoke to her in a low husky voice and his breath was hot and she could smell the alcohol and the olives. That night they came very close to breaking the barriers, but then it turned into a work night, and the moment was gone.  
****  
The next moment came almost 3 years later. He kissed her and she kissed him back, and she felt like she was finally alive. The curse of the snow queen that was put on her after she survived the fires of hatred in a far-away land, was broken. Then, as she sat thinking about her next move, trying to dig up a story that could give her a clue, she realized that she was wrong all along. Fairy tales are for little girls. All these princesses did nothing, but sit around and wait for the prince or the knight. She wondered if there were other princesses, who waited in vain, and died old, lonely and jaded, and their lives never made it into a fairy tale. She decided that if she ever had a daughter, she would read her different stories, ones where the girls went and made their own destinies. She wondered where she could find such tales. Maybe she could ask Toby to write one, he had the time now and he surely wouldn’t want to raise Molly on these silly stories.   
Donna realized that she no longer wanted to be the princess in distress. She didn’t want to wait to be saved anymore. She sipped her white wine, munched on her olives and when she felt the lust rise, she didn’t try to push it away. She held the keys to her destiny and she slid them purposefully to Josh and dared him with her eyes. That caught him off guard, suddenly the roles were reversed. Even though he messed it all up, she felt elated. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was making the moves, having some control over where her story was headed.  
When they sat around on the night before election, she was sipping white wine and whiskey and eating the olives the bar provided as finger-food. She decided that it was time to put her theory to the test, and find out for once and all if Josh really tasted like olives.   
She couldn’t make up her mind on the first try, maybe the topic is worth a deeper, more thorough investigation, she mused. What she needed was a larger sample size she giggled to herself as she surprised Josh with making another advance.   
Then Leo died and her elation was replaced by sorrow and mourning. At the wake, when she picked up the olives, for the first time they tasted like big salty tears that she couldn’t cry. She wondered if they will ever taste different.  
***  
‘Come, let’s walk in the sand’ she said kicking her sandals off. ‘Oh, the water feels yummie, come on, Josh.’  
‘You know, I prefer civilization and the sidewalk. And my pants will get wet.’  
‘Ooh, the mighty Chief of the Staff, the great wizard of the White House is afraid of getting his feet wet?’ she mocked.  
‘You know, if we go back to the room, I could show you my mighty staff.’  
‘Smooth as always, Josh.’ she snickered. ‘You can show me anything you want if you can catch me’ she laughed and ran splashing into the water.   
‘You are definitely flaky’ he said, but ran after her. He caught up with her, pushed her onto the sand and started tickling her. ‘Who’s funny now?’ he asked, while they both giggled like maniacs.   
***  
Looking up at the warm Hawaiian sky, full of stars, for the first time in her life she doesn’t wish to be in a fairy tale. She is exactly where she wants to be. And finally, she knows with absolute certainty that making love to Josh on a beach tastes exactly like olives.


	3. Jello

  
Author's notes: Third chapter of the Food diaries. Josh/Donna, Josh/Leo, Josh/Toby. Speculations to past and future. Spoilers for ITSOG I and II, Guns not Butter, Gaza, Third day story, Liftoff, Commencement  


* * *

Title: Jello  
Series: Food Diaries  
Author: BrusselsSprout  
Pair/Rating: J/D, PG  
Spoilers: does it matter at this point?  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.

Notes: Josh's POV. Hospitals, angst and jello.

Jell-O equals hospitals in his mind. It is the ultimate symbol of hurt, death and decay.   
‘Hey, Dad.’   
‘It’s good to see you, Josh.’ He forces on a smile. His dad looks grey and sick after his most recent round of chemo. He lies in the hospital bed, with a tray of miserable looking food in front of him. The most offensive item is a bowl of bright green jello.  
‘So, what’s up with you, son?’   
‘Leo McGarry came to see me. He wants me to join his campaign – did you know that he runs the presidential campaign of Governor Bartlet?’  
‘No, I haven’t heard from Leo in some time. Is he, you know, ok?’  
‘Yeah, he seems to have pulled his life together.’  
‘So you’re considering his offer?’  
‘It’s tempting. I went to see Bartlet speak yesterday, and he is different. He is brilliant and he seems to be honest. I know it sounds crazy… leaving the sure winner. Do you think I’m making a mistake?’  
‘What did Leo say?’  
‘He thinks that with me on board, we’ll have a chance to win.’  
‘Well, he’s a smart guy, Josh. Do what your instincts tell you. You can’t fight for someone you don’t believe in. Anyway, you know you can always come home and join me in the firm, don’t you? Just keep me in the loop with some campaign stories, I get bored stiff in the hospital, and at home with your mother fussing around me.’ He winks at Josh.   
************************************************************************  
When he wakes up in the hospital after the shooting, he finds it difficult to orient himself. Everything is blurry; there is pain, wires, monitors, white walls, and a tray. This time the jello is bright red, like the blood he remembers gushing out of his chest. He remembers the fear, the sirens, and he remembers Toby’s eyes. He thinks, he’s seen the President in a bathrobe, but that thought is too ridiculous, so he dismisses it as a hallucination.  
‘Hey, sleepyhead!’ he hears a voice. Turning his head, he sees Donna there. She looks pale and she has a thin smile that doesn’t quite reach her puffy eyes. He tries to answer, but the words are not coming of his mouth.   
*****************************************************************************  
The jello in Landstuhl military hospital is green. He sits there, watching Donna all pale and damaged and thinks that all of this is his fault. He argues with God in his head, a God he doesn’t quite believe in, but can’t quite dismiss either. Whenever, he tries to think about it, he gets too angry, how a good God could let Joanie and his father die. But he knows his argument must be lacking somewhere, since the President believes in God, and also Toby, and they had pretty bad things happen to them too. And then he remembers Donna’s story about Fishhooks McCarthy, when she said that she had prayed for him after Roslyn, for his health and strength. At that time, he tried to cover up with a stupid attempt of a joke how her simple statement choked him with emotions. He closes his eyes and tries to pray.  
****************************************************************************  
He can’t believe that after only a few days, he’s standing in a hospital again staring through the window into Leo’s room. The tray is covered, but he knows there is some jello or something equally disgusting on it.   
‘Hey, Josh!’  
‘Mallory, how are you holding up?’ He kisses her on the cheek.  
‘Good, thanks. You know, considering.’ She says and her hands go on her stomach instinctively. Josh looks down and sees a small, but well-defined bump.  
‘Wow. Are you…? I didn’t know. Congratulations.’ he smiles warmly at her.   
‘Thanks. Do you want to come in?’  
‘No, maybe a little later.’ Leo could always read him so well. He doesn’t want him to see it in his eyes how angry and humiliated he feels about being passed over for the Chief of Staff promotion. He doesn’t want to show how guilty he feels about leaving for Germany and letting Leo down. When he came back, he felt that something wasn’t right between the President and Leo, but he didn’t pay attention. He was distracted. Hell, he didn’t even realize that they left Leo behind. And despite his anger and hurt and humiliation, he resolves to keep his head down and keep working hard, not because of the President, but because he doesn’t want to let Leo down again.  
***************************************************************************  
‘Josh!’  
‘Hey, sunshine. What’s up? Still feathering the nest?’  
‘Actually, I think you should head home. We should go into the hospital. ‘  
‘Why, has it started?’  
‘No, but I think something may be wrong. I can’t feel her.’ There’s definitely panic in her voice, he thinks as bile starts to rise in his stomach.  
‘Ok, I’m on my way.’  
They run into the hospital. ‘Try to calm down.’ the doctor explains after some hurried examinations. ‘The monitor picked up the heartbeat, but it doesn’t look too good. Something seems to be wrong with your baby. I think it’s best if we do a C-section right now. There is no time to do a spinal block, so we’ll do it with general anesthesia. ‘  
Donna grabs his hands and there is that fear in her eyes. Josh looks back at her and tries to smile reassuringly ‘Everything’s going to be ok.’ He manages.   
‘Take care of the peanut until I wake up’ she says. ‘Don’t let her out of your sight.’  
They let him scrub in, and he sits quietly in a corner, trying not to show his nausea, as the doctors and nurses work. After a couple of minutes, they pull the baby out, and all he sees is that she is dark purple, almost black. For an absurd moment he wonders if the postman jokes were closer to the truth than he thought and if Donna has cheated on him. ‘Here she is.’ The surgeon says, and Josh wonders if he should feel changed now. He’s a father after all. He looks on in panic, as the pediatrician and the nurses in the other corner try to suck her lungs out, make her cry, and once he hears the creaking whimper, he feels relief.  
While he is waiting for Donna to wake up, he sits there, holding his daughter, now more red than purple, on his chest. First, he calls his mother who is delighted, of course. He knows that for her, the baby is not simply her granddaughter, but also the granddaughter of Josh’s father and Joanie’s niece, the great-granddaughter of her parents who had survived the concentration camps and of her parents-in-law who hadn’t. She is a new life after so much death and suffering.   
He decides that he should wait until Donna wakes up to call her parents. He feels a sudden urge to talk to someone, someone who knows what it feels like to be a father. He misses his father more than ever. And he misses Leo. He needs some fatherly wisdom badly, so he finally dials a number.  
‘Yeah.’ he hears the grumpy voice on the other end.  
‘Is this a bad time, now?’   
‘No Josh. It’s 1 a.m. Why would you think it’s a bad time?’  
‘I’m sorry, Toby. I guess I lost track of time. I’ll call you tomorrow.’  
‘Well, now I’m awake, so you might as well tell me why you called.’  
‘The baby, my daughter, she was born.’  
‘And everything’s ok? 10 toes, 10 fingers?’  
‘Well, it was an emergency C-section, but the doctors think both her and Donna will be fine.’  
‘Mazel tov, Josh’ he says, with more warmth in his voice.  
‘Thanks, I’m just… you know…’  
‘Scared senseless?’   
‘Yeah, I guess. I don’t know if I can do this. I’ll be a horrible father.’  
‘No, Josh, you’ll be a great father’. He can hear it on Toby’s voice that he’s smiling. ‘It’s a mortal lock.’  
‘You think?’  
‘Me? Leo said that to me, and he was right. And now, I’m telling it to you, because he’s still right. Good night, Josh. And give my best to Donna.’  
‘Thanks Toby.’ He hangs up. And then he whispers ‘Thanks, Leo.’ He feels like he’s gotten a present from the other side.   
He doses off with his daughter in his arms in the armchair, and when he wakes up, he finds himself staring into Donna’s smiling eyes. He smiles back and he feels more complete than he ever has. He gently places the baby on Donna’s chest, and turns away to stop the tears of happiness and mourning. He finally picks up something from the tray and turns back to Donna asking ‘Jello?’


	4. Cookies

  
Author's notes: A story about Mrs Landingham's cookie jar.  


* * *

Title: Cookies  
Series: Food Diaries  
Author: BrusselsSprout  
Pair/Rating: PG  
Spoilers: does it matter at this point?  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.  
Author Notes: This story was inspired by the cookie jar on Mrs Landingham’s desk. I’m pretty sure they are yummy chocolate chip oat cookies.

‘Cookies, yay!’ they scream in unison as they run in from the garden, looking like they have just wrestled in the mud.  
‘Come on boys, wash your hands, and you can have some.’  
‘Ok, mum.’ They scurry off to wash their hands, and reappear marginally cleaner. Two pairs of identical eyes follow her moves as she takes out some plates and pulls out the fresh cookies from the oven. This is how she always wanted her home, filled with laughter and with the smell of cookies.

 

After that terrible Christmas, she doesn’t bake anymore. It is just all too painful. More than a decade goes by in frozen silence and when her husband dies, she thinks whether her life should be over as well, and whether she has just been forgotten here. In any case, she doesn’t want to give in to desperation. She still wants to make her boys proud. When she reads that a certain Congressman from New Hampshire is looking for an assistant, she thinks that maybe there was a reason after all, maybe there is something else she’s supposed to do here. She dials the phone.  
‘Congressman Bartlet!’  
‘Hello, Dolores!’  
‘It’s Mrs. Landingham, please. Are you looking for an assistant, Congressman?’

 

‘You could use some punctuation anytime now. Argh, this is really not going anywhere.’ sighs Toby. ‘You know what we need?’  
‘Some punctuation?’  
‘No, Sam. You need punctuation and quite possibly handcuffs from the alliteration police! We need some pie. Maybe some cake.’  
‘I’ve got some M&Ms.’  
‘M&Ms? Who gets inspired by M&Ms, Sam? Did Proust eat some M&Ms and wrote a masterpiece?’  
‘No, he ate madeleines, Toby, but he was also French.’  
‘Yes, but that’s not the point. The point is that he had madeleines. Do you think he could have written In Search of Lost Time munching on M&Ms?’  
‘But it is the point, Toby. .. I’m not sure M&Ms were all that readily available in 19th century France.’  
‘Sam, what I’m saying is that I really do need some pie.’  
‘Fine, I’ll look around to see what I can find, but mind you it’s 1 a.m. and I don’t think anyone is here but us. And if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here either.’  
He wonders the empty offices of the campaign headquarters until he sees light in the Governor’s office.   
‘Good evening, Mrs Landingham!’  
‘Good evening, Sam. Working late tonight?’  
‘We have to finish the Governor’s speech for tomorrow, but Toby claims he is not inspired, unless I find some pie for him. Do you happen to know where I could get some?’  
‘At this hour? Maybe you can find some sweets in the automatic distributors, Sam.’  
‘I’ve already suggested that, Mrs Landingham. I think what he craves is a taste of home.’ Sam adds.  
‘Well, good luck, dear.’  
She likes these boys; Toby, Sam and Josh, their laughter and loud behavior remind her of Andrew and Simon. They tease her gently and since the campaign started, she feels like she’s part of a family again. She especially has a soft spot for Toby. He’s the same age as her boys would be now and he is a staunch defender of veterans. An idea surfaces, she hurries home, and quickly puts together the dough for some chocolate-chip cookies. She is surprised when baking is not painful, but rather comforting. She’s back in the office an hour and a half later, bearing a box of warm, delicious smelling cookies. She finds Sam and Toby, still hunched over the computer, bickering about a line on energy policy.  
‘Hello, boys’  
‘Mrs Landingham!’ they both look up surprised.  
‘Toby, I heard that you were looking for some pies. Now, pies take longer time to make, but I brought some cookies, maybe they’ll help you out.’  
‘Thank you, Mrs Landingham. You really shouldn’t have…’  
‘We all do what we can’ she cuts him off. ‘Now I’m expecting this to be the best speech of the campaign, otherwise there won’t be any more cookies tomorrow. Don’t stay up late, boys. Good night.’  
The next day, when Governor Bartlet doesn’t find even one word he can change in the speech, he looks at Toby surprised. ‘So what’s the secret?’  
‘It’s mostly Mrs Landingham’s contribution, sir.’ Toby replies mysteriously. ‘She came back with the cookies.’  
‘Must have been quite the treat, Toby.’ smiles the Governor.  
The next day, she finds a wrapped gift on her table. It is a beautiful crystal cookie jar. She smiles and realizes that families come in all shapes and forms. She makes sure that the cookie jar is never empty. She thinks of it as her contribution to the brilliance of the kids.

After the funeral, they sit back in the makeshift war room, arguing about strategies on how to break the news of the President’s MS and its political ramifications. There is a gloom over the room. They are snapping at each other, feeling frustrated, like they are backed into a corner.   
‘We need something’ says Toby and leaves the room abruptly. He comes back in a few minutes, carrying the crystal cookie jar, filled with her last contribution, the last batch of cookies.


	5. Peaches

  
Author's notes: Sam, Ainsley and peaches with a serving of J/D on the side.  


* * *

Peaches  
Series: Food Diaries  
by: BrusselsSprout  
Rating: TEEN  
Character(s): Sam Seaborn, Ainsley Hayes, Josh Lyman, Donna Moss  
Category(ies): Humor, Romance  
Pairing(s): Sam/Ainsley  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just dusting them off and playing with them a little, no harm intended.  
Summary: Sam and peaches.

 

‘Peach, Toby. Don’t forget about peaches. California is a leading producer of peaches in the United States.’  
‘You take your fruits way too seriously Sam.’  
‘I’m just saying, don’t leave out the peaches. Peach producers would get offended. But if you need to know Toby, peaches are an important segment not just of the agriculture, but of the landscape in California. Have you ever seen peach trees in blossom? They deserve to be written into haikus.’  
‘That’s interesting. I’ve never thought of peaches as part of high literature. If anything, I expect them in, you know, adult entertainment.’  
‘Well. It’s true, Toby. They are luscious, lush, have a velvety skin, and are high in potassium, which could cause one to have associations of a lewd nature. But you can’t deny they have poetry. Now that I think about it, they should be the forbidden fruit in the Bible, not apples.’  
‘The Bible doesn’t specify apples, Sam, it’s actually vague on that point. Apples gained prominence because of a translating error.’ Interjected Governor Bartlet, who was sitting next to them reading the speech. ‘And not everyone thought it was apples, even back in the day. For example, who knows what fruit is depicted on Michelangelo’s painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?’  
‘Governor, do you really think this is the best time for a quiz hour? We ought to go through this speech, which by the way you have to give in 40 minutes.’ Toby sighed.  
‘Calm down, Toby. Not so confident in your fine arts, are you? Here is a hint, this plant also grows in abundance in California, its leaves are mentioned in the Genesis…’  
‘and its fruit is a high source of fiber, copper, manganese, magnesium, potassium, calcium, and vitamin K, flavonoids and polyphenols.’  
‘And the prize goes to my lovely wife, Dr. Bartlet, who has hid the lyrical part of her soul in her doctor bag, under the scalpels and the stethoscope.’  
‘So what’s the answer?’  
‘It’s figs, of course. The Latin name of which, by the way is ficus…’  
‘Argh… Sam, did you have to ask? Why do you always have to ask?’  
‘It’s interesting, Toby.’  
‘No, it’s really not. Let’s get back to the speech, everyone.’

****************

‘You fired them?’  
‘Well, they left that note, there could have been law suit. So where were we before?’  
‘Sam, I don’t want to talk about litigation anymore today. I’ll think about it, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.’  
‘That’s fine, Josh. Why would they do that? I mean, what did she do to them? Did you notice that her hair smells like peaches?’  
‘Donna’s hair smells like strawberries. Sometimes lavender.’  
‘Josh! Why are we talking about Donna’s hair?’  
‘Well, you started the shampoo topic. Are you smitten by a blond republican girl, Sam?’  
‘No, of course not. I am not smitten. I just believe that we should be more civil and welcoming to her. Strictly professionally speaking. It’s only polite. And she likes Gilbert and Sullivan.’  
‘Who likes Gilbert and Sullivan?’ Donna poked her head into the office.  
‘Who is Gilbert and Sullivan?’ Josh asked. ‘Sam has a crush on Ainsley Hayes, Donna.’ he was singsonging with an evil grin.  
‘I do not have a crush. I just…’ Sam blushed.  
‘If you want to continue this discussion, we should have some beer.’  
‘Fine. Maybe we could ask her if she wants a beer.’  
‘Yes, by all means. Let’s get drunk with a Republican so we can tell her embarrassing stories that can feature on the front page of some direct mail tomorrow.’  
‘Josh! She’s not like that.’ Sam scolded as they continued down the deserted corridors.  
‘Wow! What is this?’  
‘That’s her office, Donna. She’s not here, it seems.’  
‘Are you sure there are no bats here?’  
‘Yeah. It is kind of bleak.’  
‘I have an idea guys. Why don’t we decorate it for her? It could be a romantic..‘  
‘Friendly’ corrected Sam.  
‘…friendly gesture from Sam.’ Donna finished with a smirk.  
‘You think that’s a good idea, Donna?’  
‘Of course. Do I ever have a bad idea? I know girls. I’m a girl.’  
‘Thanks for pointing that out, because you know not having biology as one of my gazillion majors, I had a hard time noticing that.’ said Josh.  
‘Well, you would not have so many visual problems if you pulled your head out of….’  
‘Guys!’ interrupted Sam. ‘As entertaining as it is to listen to your reenactment of Happy Days, we have a mission, and we all need to focus. Where do we get the decoration from?’  
‘Come with me.’ Donna said, guiding them through the deserted corridors.  
‘What is this place, Donna?’  
‘It’s a closet. And that’s a Persian rug, in pretty good condition.’  
‘You want us to steal from the White House?’  
‘You’re not going to remove it from the premises, so it’s really not stealing. It’s efficient allocation of unused resources. Redistribution. I would have put it in my cubicle, but it wouldn’t fit. Now we just need to find something for the walls. ‘  
‘I hope you’re not suggesting removing paintings from the Mural Room?’ Josh asked sarcastically.  
‘I have some Gilbert and Sullivan posters lying around somewhere. We could use those!’  
‘You know Sam, there is something really freakish about you. Donna, call Toby and CJ, they won’t want to miss this. And do we have any more beer?’  
*******************************  
‘Josh!’  
‘Hello, Sam. So how was life without me?’  
‘I can’t believe you did that. How could you not tell me?’  
‘Tell you what, Sam?’  
‘About Ainsley. You hired her as legal counsel? You didn’t think that I would have wanted to know that before I made the decision to come back?’  
‘Well, first of all, I didn’t hire her, the President-Elect did. Second of all, why would this have been material information?’  
‘Why? I can’t believe you’re asking why? You’re not the one who will have to work with their ex-whatever after all this time while being engaged and…’  
‘You’re right. Because the President-Elect didn’t just hire Amy, oh wait, he did. And I’ve just been on a vacation with Donna, and Amy being my actual ex-girlfriend, while to my knowledge you have never dated Ainsley other than in your imagination, I don’t think you have me beaten on the awkward scale here.’  
‘Yeah, about that, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about you and Donna. It was about time and I have known forever that you two will…’  
‘Sam, let’s not go down that tangent, ok?’ interrupted Josh. ‘We have senior staff in 30 minutes and you need to brief me about the week I missed. We’ll catch up tonight over some beers, I promise.’  
‘Fine.’   
Sam just finished briefing Josh, when there was a knock on the door.   
‘Hello, Sam.’ He heard her drawl. He didn’t have to turn around to know she was smiling sweetly. He started to wonder whether his engagement is already doomed or if he will be able to resist this particular forbidden fruit.   
‘Hey, Ainsley.’ He smiled, warmer than he intended.  
‘Am I early? You guys can go on talking. I’ll just sit here and read this memo. Oh, can I have that peach?’


	6. Yogurt

  
Author's notes: CJ and Donna eat yogurt and become friends  


* * *

Title: Yoghurt  
Series: Food Diaries  
Author: BrusselsSprout  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: does it matter at this point?  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.

Notes: I was interested in playing with the CJ/Donna dynamic. Sometimes they seem to be fairly good friends and other times almost like complete strangers. Fics depicting them as best friends from the start never rang true to me. Anyways, this is my take on their relationship.

Yoghurt was definitely a new offering on the breakfast table in the campaign headquarters among the piles of sugar and fat laden donuts, muffins and Danishes. CJ wondered if the initiative came from Dr. Bartlet, but in any case, she welcomed it.  
‘There’s also some granola and muesli.’ CJ looked up, it was the new girl, Josh’s new assistant. CJ didn’t like her on spec, she was too blond, too skinny, too young, too pretty. She looked just like the girls CJ despised in high school, who didn’t want to work hard, because they counted on their looks to get what they wanted And sure enough, they always found some dorky boy to do last-minute revision with them. These same boys would usually complain to CJ afterwards that the pretty girls ignored them afterwards. CJ was different. Her parents raised her to be proud of her smarts. She didn’t want to hide her intelligence; she wanted to grow up to be an accomplished woman, to change the world. But being a teenager, she still wanted to impress boys, who seemed to be intimidated by her and went for the unthreatening wide-eyed naïve types, like the new girl.   
Toby seemed to be suspicious regarding Josh’s motives when he hired her. Toby didn’t trust Josh, he viewed him as a careerist, privileged guy, who was there at the campaign, because he was Leo McGarry’s personal protégé. CJ hasn’t made up her mind about him yet. He seemed to have an over-developed ego – not that that in itself was unusual for players in DC politics – it was typical that he’d be the first one to hire a personal assistant. But he also seemed to have really good ideas, and CJ liked his jokes. She also thought that if he was a ruthless careerist like Toby believed him to be, he would have stayed on Hoynes’ team. But she kept these thoughts to herself for now.  
‘My stomach felt like a rock every day from all this sugary, heavy stuff lying around. So I tracked down a place that delivers something healthier and asked Leo to include it in the breakfast order.’ The blond continued. She didn’t seem to be at all fazed by the fact that CJ ignored her.  
‘You arranged for this? And Leo agreed?’ CJ was a bit impressed despite herself. Getting Leo to spend on something like this was no small feat, campaign money was still very tight.  
‘Well, you know, I convinced Margaret. I figured if you want something from Leo, it doesn’t hurt to get Margaret on your side. Leo was reluctant at first, but then we threatened to involve Dr. Bartlet at which point he probably thought that it’s better to give in now and live to fight another day.’ She smiled and continued to leaf through a big pile of paper and scribbling things on small index card.  
‘So what are you working on, Donna?’ CJ finally remembered her name, and sat down beside her with her yoghurt and some fresh fruit.   
‘I’m writing memo-cards for Josh about the people tonight at the fundraiser. You know, their names, their wife’s name, their pet projects, stuff like that. It helps him with the schmoozing, I guess.’  
‘Oh, damn. I forgot about that fundraiser.’ CJ looked down at her hands. ‘I really wanted to get my nails done, but I don’t think I’ll have time now.’  
‘If you want, I can do it.’ Donna said. ‘You know, among my many talents, I’m also an accomplished manicurist.’ self-irony was evident in her voice.  
CJ was still mulling over the offer when Donna stood up, ‘I’ll come to your room around 7.30’ she said and left.  
She knocked on her door, exactly at 7.30, carrying a small bag with herself. ‘Wow, that’s a gorgeous dress!’ She exclaimed when she saw CJ’s evening gown hanging on a rack. They sat down next to the hotel room bureau, and Donna started skillfully rasp her nails.   
‘So how does a manicurist end up working for a political campaign?’ CJ asked.  
‘It’s really the other way around. I was studying politics and government. But then I met this guy. And he was good looking and a medical student, and completely broke. So I took a course and learnt this, and was doing it for a while in the evenings. But then it clashed with my school schedule, so I changed majors. But still it wasn’t enough money. So I learnt typing, and started to work as a secretary, and kept changing my majors, so I could fit it around my working hours but..’  
‘But he asked you to drop out?’  
‘Yeah. He said that as a doctor’s wife, I won’t need a degree anyways. God, this is so embarrassing, I feel like the stupid blond girl cliché. So anyway, we broke up and I drove here.’  
‘Why here?’  
‘I heard the Governor’s speech in Iowa. And he was talking about his daughters, and his education agenda and I could see how proud he was of them. That he believed they can do anything in the world. I wanted to be somewhere where I could be valuable.’  
‘Your parents didn’t encourage you to study?’  
‘No, my mom was thrilled that I had a doctor boyfriend. She wanted me to marry well.’  
‘Do you like working for Josh?’  
‘Yes. I mean he’s a bit dorky, and has some weird moods, but he’s very nice. I feel like I’m learning so much. And he can explain things better than the professors back at my university. ‘  
‘Well, if you change your mind about him, you can always work for me.’  
‘Thanks, CJ. We’re all done. Have fun at the party tonight.’  
‘Thank you. I really appreciate this.’  
‘No problem. I’m sure you can use some girl time, I mean, it must be hard to be the only woman in the senior staff.’ Damn, she’s perceptive, CJ thought. She had a knack for figuring out relationship dynamics. She seemed to be totally different than what she assumed she would be. And she was right, CJ thoroughly enjoyed the girl talk, the pampering, not having to listen to the guys incessant jabbering about baseball.  
She was surprised when she heard a couple of weeks later that Donna left to go back to Wisconsin. She didn’t really know the details, Josh was still distraught after his father’s death and he was burying himself in work.   
‘Hello?’ she picked up the telephone still disoriented and knocked some things off the nightstand in the process.  
‘CJ?’  
‘Who is this?’  
‘It’s Donna.’  
‘Donna? What happened? Why are you calling in the middle of the night?’  
‘I want to come back CJ. Are you guys still in California tomorrow?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘I’m arriving tomorrow. Is Josh really pissed at me? Do you think he’ll take me back?’  
‘If he won’t, I will.’  
‘Thanks, CJ. See you tomorrow. But please, don’t tell Josh that I’m coming, ok?’  
‘Fine.’ Mumbled CJ. ‘Wait, how do you get here?’ she asked, but Donna had already hung up.

 

Once they moved in the White House, things have changed. The informality of the campaign was replaced by structure. There were casts, senior staff, administrators and assistants. CJ was trying hard to prove herself, to prove that she was one of the guys. She felt that being too friendly with assistants would be detrimental to her status. But she missed the girly chat. There were no other women, but Mandy, and talking to Mandy was less relaxing than listening to Toby and Josh ranting about strikes and balls.  
Roslyn changed everything. After the shooting, Donna put herself in charge of Josh’s recovery. She was the only one who could handle his moods and temper, but CJ saw that it took a lot out of her. She really needed to take care of herself, CJ thought. One day, after Josh had returned to the office, she asked Donna casually where she’d go for lunch. Donna started to rave about a yoghurt place so they went there. Lunch at that place with Donna became her weekly therapy session, talking about everything and nothing; clothes, guys, and gossip. Unlike the rest of her week, that one hour wasn’t about competition, about smarter-than-you. She didn’t have to be on her toes, she didn’t have to prove anything. It was a guilty little pleasure. And slowly they learnt things about each other.  
She told Donna about losing her mother, about how out of place she felt sometimes among the guys. She confessed her crush on Simon, and Donna of course took credit for bringing such a good-looking and decent guy on her doorstep. Then she was privy to her grief about his death and all the things that could have been. She knew about her one-night stand back in her hometown.  
In return, Donna told her how she didn’t like Amy, how Josh pissed her off with snide remarks about her dates, how she liked Cliff but that it wasn’t meant to be, how decent a guy Jack was and that maybe this is going to be the one. After a while she started to talk about wanting to do more professionally, maybe going back to school, feeling like she wasn’t living up to her potential.  
They have quickly learnt how to avoid the dangerous subjects that would break their groove. Donna never asked CJ about Toby and Danny, and CJ never asked her about Josh. If information was volunteered, it was always filtered carefully and presented casually. But there was never pushing of the subject until that fateful night, when they found themselves in CJ’s office during the lockdown.  
CJ probably would have never overstepped the line if it wasn’t for the headache she started to get from the red wine and the bad mood she was getting into at the prospect of going camping with Ben. She wasn’t all that interested in spending the night in an uncomfortable tent, and sex with Ben wasn’t all that great. She felt irritated about yet another relationship that was heading nowhere and Donna’s usual denial just held a mirror to her own. So she told her to stop duping herself, to leave Josh and move on with her life. When she saw her face, she knew she had overstepped the line, but there was no backing off from that moment. She felt horrible, but she convinced herself that she was doing her a favor on the long run, that friends tell the truth to each other even if it’s uncomfortable.  
Her words came back to haunt her a couple of days later, when they were desperately trying to get news of the Codel, of Donna; when she saw the haunted look in Josh’s eyes, when Leo told them that he’s not coming to the meeting because he’s flying to Germany. That was the point when she realized that maybe things weren’t as simple and as one-sided as she thought. She was trying to speak to Donna, but she kept dodging her calls and they have been busy dealing with the aftermath of the bombing.   
And before she knew, there was Leo’s heart attack, and she was named Chief of Staff, and found herself once again trying to prove that she can succeed. Things became tense and complicated between her and Josh and Toby. They all said that they’ll handle it, that it won’t change who they are, but it did. The disintegration of that odd family that they had become over the years, which started with Sam’s departure, was now complete. CJ only saw Donna in passing after she returned, and they didn’t say much to each other.  
Those first months were a haze anyways. She remembered Margaret telling her that Donna quit, and she was not surprised to find out that Josh followed soon. She was a bit taken aback when they ended up on different campaigns and when she heard that they weren’t really on speaking terms. She occasionally saw both Josh and Donna and they felt like strangers to her, to each other, the familiar spark was gone from their eyes. She felt vaguely responsible, but decided that she had too much on her plate, so they had to figure it out themselves. She became increasingly lonely and isolated. She missed jesting with the boys, she missed gossiping with Donna. She was buried in work and it felt like all fun was sucked out of her life. After Toby was fired, all she could do was grit her teeth and tell herself that she wouldn’t quit, she would see this presidency to its end.  
She heard vague rumors from the Santos campaign; she saw on TV that Donna has finally made her way there. They met at Ellie’s wedding and some other social occasions, but there was still a tension, and they never exchanged more than just a few polite words.  
So CJ was surprised when she met Donna in the White House after the San Andreo incident and she was glowing and blushing like a schoolgirl, stuttering about some odd moments that happened with Josh. CJ didn’t push her, because she felt like Donna was not yet ready to let her in, but it felt great for a moment to be them. It felt like old times.

 

She was still utterly surprised when Donna asked her if she could stay with her at Leo’s wake. The timing wasn’t perfect, but she felt that it was a sign of détente. They didn’t talk much that night, too tired after the party, after the grieving.  
The next morning however, they had breakfast together at CJ’s kitchen table.   
‘Are you going to work at Communications for the Santos administration? I think you did a great job on the campaign.’  
‘Thanks.’ Donna smiled at her compliment. ‘I don’t know yet. It’s a bit complicated.’  
‘Another odd moment with Josh?’ CJ asked carefully, ready to retreat if it was too much.  
‘Well, I wouldn’t call it odd, and it was more than just one, but I don’t know if it’s going anywhere.’ it looked like Donna was ready to talk.  
‘I know the feeling.’  
‘So you had some odd moments with Danny finally?’  
‘How did you know?’  
‘Come on, CJ, you two were practically swooning at each other last night.’  
‘I did not swoon. But yes.’ CJ felt that it was her turn to open up.  
‘And what about Toby? Have you seen him since, you know, the thing?’ ok, so Donna was still spot on as usual. She knew her too well.   
‘What does Toby have to do with it? And no, I haven’t seen him.’ CJ asked defensively and she felt the familiar squeeze in her stomach.  
‘You know, Josh has been in touch with him. He saw him a couple of times and they talk on the phone every now and then.’ Donna offered. CJ felt relieved, she was mad at Toby about the leak, about abandoning her, but she was worried about him and if she was honest with herself, she even understood his motives. It was a relief to know that at least one of them was acting like a friend to him.  
‘Josh can be really sweet sometimes, you know.’  
‘Yes, I know.’ Donna said dreamily. ‘Anyway, Toby, he’s ok, considering. Angry, frustrated, but that’s to be expected. I think you should talk to him.’ CJ didn’t answer.  
‘And what are you going to do about the Josh thing?’  
‘I have no idea. I give it a couple of days and we’ll see. And you?’  
‘I really have no idea.’ CJ sighed. ’ I have to go to work. You know, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, though I might have a late-nighter in the office.’ She felt ridiculous for beating around the bush like that when they both knew that it was code for sleeping at Danny’s place. ‘Is it ok, if I give you a key?’  
‘Thanks, CJ, I really appreciate this.’

 

They haven’t really crossed paths the next day, and the day after she found a hastily scribbled note from Donna saying that she’ll be gone for a week. When the next day it was Sam who came to see her instead of Josh, it all made sense.   
A week later, Donna called early morning to ask if she could come over to pick her things up and to return the key. She arrived with an offering of coffee and breakfast and was definitely glowing.  
‘So you guys figured it out?’  
‘I guess we did. We’ll try to make it work.’ the happiness in Donna’s voice was evident.  
‘I heard you’ll be the Chief of Staff to the First Lady. I told her that she made a wise a choice. You’ll do great. Looks like everything is falling into place for you.’   
‘Thanks. I’m terrified. You know, the blond girl without a degree, what if they don’t take me seriously?’  
‘Just project confidence and you’ll be fine. You have what it takes and you’ll do great.’  
‘And what about you? I heard the President-Elect has asked you to stay on as an advisor and I know Josh would be happy to…’  
‘He’ll do fine without me. I did some figuring out of my own. I went to see Toby, maybe to get some closure, I don’t know. Anyway, he told me some uncomfortable things. He told me that I just keep bouncing and I never pick anything, that I let others to make my choices for me so I don’t have to take responsibility for the outcome. And he was right. So I think I’ve made my choice. It’s time to concentrate on other things. I’ll leave with Danny after the Inauguration. ‘  
‘I think you made the right choice CJ, you guys really deserve some happiness. Toby was right of course. That’s what friends are for, they tell the truth, even when it hurts.’ Donna added pointedly.  
They both knew that she wasn’t just talking about Toby at that moment as they sat in companionable silence and spooned their yoghurts.


	7. Pie

Title: Pies  
Series: Food Diaries  
Author: BrusselsSprout  
Pair/Rating: Toby/Andy, a hint of Toby/CJ, PG  
Spoilers: everything's fair game  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.

Notes: I love Toby's character, so sorry for the length, but so many gaps to fill. In Holy Night his father seems to be speaking Yiddish, so I made his family to be Eastern European Jewish and the pie in question is a form of Apple strudel, in which the dough is stretched very thin. Let me know what you think.

*****

Pies were a rare treat these days. His mother was working two jobs to keep the family afloat, a day job at a laundry service and a night job in a factory. His older sisters also worked during the days, studying instead in night school. David and Toby were often left to take care of themselves, warming up leftovers and eating it in front of the little television.

After his father had started to serve his prison term, his quiet, gentle, frail mother had grown into a remarkable matriarch. If she ever cried, they've never seen it. She stopped speaking Yiddish in the house. Her English was broken and accented, but she insisted that her children speak English to her and to each other.

She allowed no self-pity, and told them that to work harder, to be smarter than the other kids, because what they know is the only thing that can never be taken away from them. She, herself came from a good family and went to a private school, but her education was cut short when she was 13 because of the war. She had lost all her family and married her husband young. But she swore to herself that her children will all go to university and will do something useful with their lives and she made sure that the kids knew what was expected of them.

Toby knew that she would bake a pie when on Friday her mother sent him to pick up flour from Mrs. Weiss' corner store. It was her grandmother's special recipe, one of the few things she brought with herself from the old world. She kept telling him that you cannot make this from any odd flour, that it had to be the right type of flour. Then she got up early morning on Sunday and started kneading the dough. She worked it into three neat balls and covered them with a kitchen cloth and let them rest for a few hours.

After that came Toby's favourite part. He watched with fascination as his mother took out a ball, flattened it in the middle of the kitchen table and started to skillfully shake it and pull it. She pulled it in a wavelike motion, it was graceful like a dance. In a matter of minutes, it became so thin, you could see through it and it covered the entire table, like tablecloth. Then she filled it with stewed apples and rolled it up. Toby liked to eat it warm, straight out of the oven, the pastry crispy and light, the apple filling tender and sweet. It was perfection.

She pulled out the second ball of dough, and filled it with cottage cheese, which was David's favourite. Then the third one, and Toby was astonished when she filled that one with cabbage. None of the kids liked it with cabbage. When it was ready, she cut it into pieces, filled a box with it and told the boys to get dressed. They got on a bus and rode for an hour. Only when they got off in the middle of a field and started to walk on a dirt road did they see the sinister-looking grey building, surrounded by barbed wire sense.

'Mama, I don't want to see him.' Toby complained.

'He has asked to see you boys. He's your father and you will do this. Nothing is more important than family' She said sternly.

Toby felt ashamed and humiliated while the guards searched them. They laughed at his mother's accent and poked at the pie, making some jokes about a rasp that could be hidden in it. Finally, they let them in. His father was already sitting at one of the corner tables of the waiting room. He smiled at them.

'Hello, Papa.' The boys greeted him.

'Hello kids.' He replied in heavily accented English. 'Hello, Hannah.' He turned to his wife. She opened the box, and held it out for him. He took out a piece of pie and Toby saw that tears started to pool in his eyes. 'Ikh hob dikh lib' he heard him mutter before he turned back to the boys.

*****

'Mama, how are you?'

'Hello, Toby.' She looked smaller and paler than he remembered. She was only 64, but she looked older. She's had a hard life and it's taken its toll. She still lived in that same little 2-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn that she kept immaculately clean.

'Mama, this is Andrea.' he said clutching the hands of his nervous girlfriend. They have met at a protest a year ago and Toby was enchanted by her.

'Come on in. You father will be home in an hour, then we'll eat.'

'You made apple pie, Mama?' he smiled at the familiar smell.

'Of course, Toby, I know it's your favourite.' she smiled and she turned to Andrea ' I think you'll have to learn to make this one, dear, if you want to make Toby smile.' and she looked at them questioning when Toby snorted.

'I'm not much of a cook, Mrs Ziegler, I am afraid.' Andi said apologetically.

'Well, I guess, it's time consuming. Bobeshi used to say that making this pie was a labour of love.' She pulled the first batch out of the oven.

They lost her a few months later, she died quietly from a stroke. For some strange reason, at the funeral Toby remembered that that evening was the last time he ate a piece of her mother's pie. He felt like an orphan and wondered if it was strange for a 33-year old man to feel this way.

*****

He heard her muffled cries from the bathroom. It broke his heart every time. He wanted to go in to console her, but he didn't have the words, he couldn't make it better. They usually just ended up fighting.

He wondered how they've gotten here. They used to make love passionately; he knew the location of all her freckles because he kissed them so many times. Then they usually curled up in bed with a bottle of wine talking about everything and nothing, the world, politics, poetry, ideas. These days they didn't talk about much else than babies, her cycle, hospital appointments.

They used to wake up together and he would reach out and pull her closer, sometimes they made love, sometimes they just cuddled enjoying the physical closeness. Now every morning started with Andy's thermometer beeping, and he wasn't allowed to touch her until she jotted down the results in the diary she kept on her nightstand. Then if it looked like it was the right time of the month, he was expected to make love to her, though it didn't feel like it anymore. They always lay in the same position, he mechanically made the moves, but he had never felt so far away from her.

And it always ended the same way, she would get her hopes up, then take pregnancy test upon pregnancy test until her period came, and she started crying and got drunk in the evening, and would not want him to hold her or even to touch her until the next time the damn thermometer said it was time.

She finally emerged from the bathroom with red, puffy eyes and headed to the kitchen. Toby was sitting at the counter drinking coffee. He pushed a steaming cup in front of her and asked her if she wanted some breakfast. She just shook her head and picked up the newspaper.

'I'm going to New Hampshire tomorrow.' Toby said.

'Why?'

'Leo McGarry asked me to work on Bartlet's presidential campaign.'

'I didn't know he was running.'

'Well, I didn't know it either. But it's good opportunity for me.'

'I thought you'll work on my congressional campaign.'

'You'll do fine without me, Andy. Anyway, I'm usually bad luck for a campaign, like an anti-mascot.'

'But how will we keep on trying if you're going to be that far?'

'I'll try to make it home every months in time for, you know… Anyway, I think we'll run out of money in a couple of months.' And I really need a break from this, he thought, but knew better than say it.

'Fine. I'm taking a shower.' She didn't bother to ask him any more questions.

Toby watched her leave and wondered why it hurt so bad. He loved her, he knew that much. But he started to wonder if he loved her for what she was or for what she wasn't. He thought that maybe she was so alluring to him, because she was smart and sophisticated, she came from a wealthy family, she was confident and ambitious. She wasn't one of those women from his old neighborhood who hardly spoke any English, who had no education to speak of, who sacrificed themselves for their husband.

He wondered what kind of mother she would be. He knew very well what kind of mother she wouldn't be, the kind who walks the extra mile to get the right kind of flour, who gets up early in the morning to knead the dough so that her son, who hasn't visited her in more than 5 months, could have warm and fresh apple pie for lunch.

*****

 

'Where is the turkey?' the guys looked skeptically at the dish CJ held in her hand.

'It's in the dish.' she said.

'It's macaroni and cheese, CJ. ' Toby pointed out. 'That's not proper Thanksgiving food.'

'It is macaroni and cheese with turkey ham and mushrooms, Toby. ' she answered in an irritated voice.

'Still, it's not a turkey. I thought you told me yesterday that you knew how to cook a proper turkey?' Toby shot back.

'I'm sure I'd be able to, but when we went to the butcher's yesterday, Donna kept asking the guy what the turkeys' names were and well, after Eric and Troy it just didn't feel right. So we got some ham instead.'

'Turkey ham.' Donna interjected. 'And I made chestnut stuffing.'

'That will go well with the macaroni.' said Josh sarcastically.

'In my family everyone only wanted the stuffing anyways.' Sam smiled pacifyingly. He was hungry, and at this point he just wanted to sit down with whatever food and a beer and watch the football game. His team was playing and it's been a long while since he had the opportunity to see a game live from start till finish.

They ate the macaroni through the first quarter and watched the game in silence.

'It's time for dessert.' CJ announced. 'Who will help me with the plates?'

'I brought the beer.' Josh protested.

'I'm providing the venue.' Sam piped in totally immersed in the mid-game commentary.

'And I helped you shop, cook and carry things over here.' said Donna who was clearly very comfortably nestled next to Josh on Sam's large couch. She kicked off her shoes and had both feet pulled under her, Josh's arms were around her back and his ever restless fingers were fidgeting with her hair. She didn't want get up.

'So it's you Toby.'

Toby sighed, but didn't protest. He collected the plates and the leftovers and followed CJ to the kitchen. She pulled out a baking dish filled with something and put it in the oven that she had already pre-heated.

'You made pie.' Toby's voice was full of wonderment.

'Yeah, I made pumpkin pie. I know your sweet tooth is your weak spot, Toby.' She smiled back at him.

'I didn't know you baked'

'I can't say that I do. But it's my mother's recipe, I used to help her with this at every Thanksgiving.' She looked at him. And once again they understood each other wordlessly. It wasn't just about the food, it was about family, about heritage, about their lost mothers' legacies and this new family they have become.

They packed the dishes in the dishwasher, and Toby told her about his mother's apple pie. 'It sounds wonderful.' CJ commented and Toby knew that she understood the point of the story. He looked at his best friend and realized how similar they were despite their vastly different backgrounds. In that moment she felt more like family to him than his sisters and his brother, his father or his ex-wife or anyone else in the entire world. He thought that maybe it's the right time for them finally as the familiar, yet unfamiliar fragrance of the pie started to fill the kitchen.

'The game is on.' Sam yelled.

*****

'What was your memory about the Whiffenpoofs?' Toby asked him as they entered his apartment.

'I heard them on the radio the night you were born, Toby.' his father answered.

'Do you want something to eat?' Toby started to make sandwiches and pulled out some beer from the fridge.

'Are you going to marry Andy again? This place doesn't feel like a home, Toby, it needs a woman's touch.'

'I'm working on it.' He had a hard time calling him his father. He felt irritated. Josh thought he had a monopoly on pain and loss, he didn't realize that every single one of them had a story of loss, hurt, and abandonment that they carried around. Everyone: Sam, Toby, CJ, Leo, the President, Donna, Charlie; all of them had scars on their souls. Josh knew about the loss and the lingering guilt about his father's death, but he didn't know that to have a father, he had to be there and well, Julie Ziegler wasn't there. Blood and genes alone in Toby's book did not make a father.

'I brought something for you.' His father pulled out an old tattered book. 'Your mother wanted your daughter to have this.' He said.

Toby took the book. It was an old cook book, he recognized, written in Yiddish. Some pages were torn, some were missing. He found a piece of yellowed paper, filled with neat, school-girlish writing. It was the recipe for the apple pie, he realized.

'I miss her every day.' he heard his father say. And all he could do was nod. He looked at his father finally and wondered why his mother decided to stand by him after all the unspeakable sins he committed. He wondered if Andy will marry him again. He wanted to be a real father for his children, he wanted them to be a real family.

*****

'Don't you realize what this will do to your children?' Andy's accusation kept ringing in his ears. After all these years, Andy still didn't know him at all, it seemed.

The kids were the only reason he hesitated to come forward in the first place. He was thinking of Gregory Brock's baby when he finally confessed. He had nightmares about his children walking down gray corridors once a month to meet their felon father. He agonized over the possibility of them being treated like lepers in school. He feared that their friends wouldn't be allowed to play with them. Every morning he woke up thinking he'll take a deal.

But still, it wasn't the honorable thing to do, and Toby wanted to do what's honorable. The military shuttle was something he first suspected from a few cryptic words of David. Then one day he overheard Leo and Josh arguing with someone at DoD over the lack of transparency of the military budget making allusions to a military space program without realizing that he was in the room. CJ's hypothetical question was just the final confirmation. They all gave him pieces of the puzzle, but he put it together alone and the decision to make it public was his only.

He knew the President, he knew that because of who he was and because of his beliefs he wouldn't usually place a cold machine over human lives. But he also knew that the President's weakness was his hubris, and even though his administration was coming to its end, he was still grabbing at straws to add to his legacy. He didn't want to go down in the history books as the President who gave away a military advantage, someone weak on security. Toby knew differently. He knew the military's space program was bogus, a flashy scenario cooked up by DoD to awe the presidents who reached for the stars and fatten the military contractors who were happy to come up with more and more gadgets as if it were ever possible to fight a war without people. He knew that sending up the shuttle was the right decision, one that the President will never make and that he would regret it for the rest of his life. He felt that those astronauts trapped in the vast nothingness of space waiting for their last breaths were all his brothers and if there was a way to save them he would, because they were family. He still wondered if his children would ever understand this. He wondered if his father was this torn before he went in the prison and if there was a part of his story that he refused to hear. He wondered if Andy will bring Huck and Molly to the prison to see him.

*****

Being back in New York was strange and familiar at the same time. He liked the university and it turned out that teaching was something he was good at. He enjoyed arguing with students, he enjoyed challenging them. He also enjoyed the quieter rhythm of his life. He was still working a lot, but was usually home around 6, and he had some afternoons off. He went down to DC to see the kids as often as he could.

If he got there when the twins were still in school, and Andy could get away from her office, they sometimes made love in her bed and quietly talked until it was time to pick up the kids. The gloriousness of it started to come back, their bodies were familiar instruments, and they were rediscovering each other slowly. If she had to stay late at work, he walked the twins home and they cooked dinner together and laid the table by the time she came home.

Some weekends he drove them up to New York and they went to the Natural Science Museum, caught a show on Broadway or went to see a Yankee's game. Some weekends Andy joined them and for an outsider they looked like a beautiful, perfect family.

This weekend the kids were coming to see him again. Andy drove them and they were going to see the Knicks in the evening. Andy wanted some time for herself, to do some shopping so he left the kids with Toby and took off.

Molly asked him if he really grew up here. When he answered yes, Huck wanted to see his old house. Until then, Toby avoided talking about his childhood, it was a dark cloud that had no place in his children's life, he decided. He didn't want to pass on the sadness.

The late fall sun was weakly shining as they wandered through his old neighbourhood. He showed them his old school, the plot where they used to play baseball with the other kids, the synagogue where his Bar Mitzvah was. They went to the cemetery and placed three little rocks on his mother's grave. Then around the corner, he saw the shop. Mrs Weiss was long dead, one of her sons ran the place now. But it didn't change much, the shelves were filled with pickles, horseradish, goose fat, Matzos, pickled herring, Kosher plum schnapps, and many other foods and ingredients that brought back memories for Toby. Molly was asking him what some of the jars were. He spotted the familiar bag of flour, and bought two packages. They also bought some apples and headed back to his place.

'We're going to cook something new today.' he announced cheerfully. He pulled out his mother's recipe book and showed them the handwritten recipe of the apple pie. They listened to him while he was telling them its story, that it was something special, a family heirloom that made it through the perils of war, a piece of knowledge that got passed on from grandmother to granddaughter, and grandson, he added quickly seeing Huck's expression.

When Andy got home, Huck and Molly were already pulling the dough, trying to stretch it thin with their small hands, carefully, without breaking it, while Toby was cooking the apples for the filling. They were giggling and laughing. Toby looked at Andi wary of what he'll see in her eyes.

'They asked me about my childhood' he said apologetically.

'Well, it was time. That looks like a wonderful pie.' She answered with a smile.

'I had an idea.' He began hesitantly. 'Would you mind if…'

'No, call him. I'd rather stay in and do some work tonight anyway, so you could invite him along to the game.' she knew what he was going to ask, he realized with wonderment.

So maybe Andy wasn't the kind of mother to make pies, he thought, but she stood by him even when everyone abandoned him, she accepted him, with all his scars and dark history, murderous father and all. She understood him, his ambivalence about his identity and his desire to share some of it with his children. At this moment he was also sure, had he been imprisoned, she would have brought the children to visit.

He picked up the phone.

'Papa? It's Toby. Do you want to come over? We'll go watch a game with the twins. And we are baking pie.'


	8. Stew

Title: Stew  
Author: BrusselsSprout

Series: Food Diaries  
Category: General  
Rating: Mature (some language, some adult topics, please don't read it if you're not supposed to)  
Disclaimer: Not mine

Author's notes: I originally wanted this to be a Josh story, but Amy fought hard for it in my head and she won. She can be pretty insistent. This is not a typical EvilAmy! story. I'm not a Josh/Amy shipper per se, but I just never saw her that way. I'm also working here with some adult topics, so read responsibly. There was so much to try to incorporate, Amy's nephews, the first lady babysitting, Josh's roommate. I hope I managed to keep it in canon. Anyway, here it is.

*****

Stew, cold, tired, surgery – these were the words Amy caught as she lay in her bed listening to her parents' rising voices through the door. Her room was lit with a dim nightlight and she could see Amelia Earhart staring down at her indifferently from the poster above her bed. She wondered if Alice woke up too, and sure enough, her younger sister appeared in the doorway clutching her teddy bear. 'Come here.' Amy told her and she gave her a hug. She pulled the pillows over their heads and started to whisper a story into Alice's ear, but they still both flinched when they heard the loud banging of a door. Finally silence fell over the house.

In the morning they come downstairs and their mother is already sitting in the kitchen reading the morning paper with a hot mug of coffee. Amy pulls the milk out of the fridge and pours it over some cereal, and gives a bowl to Alice.

'Listen, girls. I have to talk to you about something. Your father has decided to move out last night. We think that it's better that way.' Their mother says matter-of-factly. Amy feels tears pooling in her eyes. Alice is openly crying. 'Don't cry, girls. I need you to be brave. We'll be fine, we are independent and we don't need him.' Her mother tells them in a stern voice. Amy nods and clenches her jaw, two tears escape but she manages to blink back the rest of them and she doesn't really cry. 'That's my smart, brave, big daughter.' her mother smiles at her. 'Now, go to school..' Amy takes Alice by the hand and they head out to catch the school bus.

*****

'What's up, Daddy?' she mutters sleepily.

'I'm sorry, Amy. I got a call from the hospital, I need to go in. You're going to spend the rest of the night at a colleague's house. She has two daughters, it'll be fun. I'll pick you up in the morning, we'll go out to brunch and maybe catch a movie.'

'Why don't you just take us to Mom?' she asks.

'I'd rather not get into an argument with her about this. Please, Amy.'

'Ok.' She agrees and picks up their bags making sure they both have their toothbrushes, while her father lifts Alice into the car.

They drive in silence to the house. Her father gets out of the car, and carries Alice, who's still asleep in his arms. Amy follows dragging their bags along. He knocks on the door and soon a short woman appears and welcomes them with a warm smile.

'Hey, George. Hello, you must be Amy. My name is Abbey Bartlet. Come in, let me show you where you'll be sleeping.' she says as she takes Alice from their father.

'Thank you, Abbey. I appreciate it. Take care, Amy. I'll pick you up as soon as I can.' he waves good-bye.

She silently follows Mrs Bartlet to the guest room and falls into the strange bed. She's tired and it doesn't take long to drift off as she listens to her sister's breathing.

In the morning she wakes up to strange noises: plates clattering, something squeaking, feet shuffling, water running, a small child crying, a cat meowing. She realizes that these must be the sounds of a normal family. She quickly changes out of her pajamas, brushes her hair and her teeth, helps Alice to change and they come downstairs.

In the kitchen she spots the woman from last night and a man who, she assumes, must be her husband. A girl, about Amy's age is busy setting the table, while a little blond toddler chases around the cat.

'Good morning.' Amy says.

'Good morning, Amy. And you must be Alice.' Mrs. Bartlet greets them. 'We'll be having breakfast soon, if Jed doesn't burn all the pancakes. That's my older daughter, Lizzie, and the little one is Ellie. Your father's surgery is running a little bit longer, so you'll stay for lunch, we'll be cooking stew. Amy, would you please help Lizzie with the table? Alice, you want say hello to Ellie?'

*****

She rolls on her back and stares at the ceiling. She should really tell him. Chris is absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her hair. It's no big deal, she keeps telling herself, but she doesn't really know how to broach the subject.

'I feel bad about chasing your roommate away.' she says instead.

'Well, with your level of noise, Amy, he's better off studying in the library.' Chris smirks with apparent self-satisfaction.

'Still, I don't think I've talked more than two words to him – he just seems to avoid me.'

'You can stay for dinner and talk to him, we are having stew.' Chris suggests.

'You guys are cooking?' she asks incredulously. She's been spending quite some time in the room, but all she's ever seen were take-out boxes, pizza cartons and piles of dirty plates and mugs.

'No, Josh's mother was visiting and she brought some home-cooked food.' Chris shrugs.

'Really?'

'Well, what can I say? Typical Jewish mother. She's a good cook though, so no complaints from me.'

And Chris is right, the stew is delicious.

'So what are you doing during the break, Josh?' Amy turns to Chris' roommate.

'I'm doing an internship on a political campaign. They give PolSci credits for it.'

'Which campaign?' Amy asks with growing interest. Her mother keeps her updated on the Democratic primary races. She's involved with several women's groups, all pondering which candidates to throw their lot in with. And Amy of course is a member of the executive committee of the Women Student Council. She didn't think Josh was the political type, but then she remembers having seen him with Billy Molina at an environmental rally that the different student political groups had organized in protest of the recent oil spill.

'Henry Robinson's.' he says. Wow, she thinks, he plays in the big leagues. She has assumed he'd be doing some make-shift work at a mayoral or Congressional race.

'You think he'd make a good president?' she asks.

'I think he makes a good candidate. He's well-liked among independent voters. And he has a decent head of hair' he jokes, self-consciously raking through his own, unruly, and already thinning mane.

'And what will you do at the campaign?'

'I'll be operating the shredder, I imagine. I may get to choose the bagels' he grins. 'I might even dress up in disguise and spy on the opposition.'

'Ah, you'll be special J.' she teases.

'I'll be working for the Chief Political Strategist.' He adds a bit more seriously and tries to sound cool.

'You'll be working for Leo McGarry? You know him?' Amy knows from her mother that he's a force to be reckoned with in the Democratic Party.

'My father does.' Josh shrugs. 'So what do you think his chances are?'

They are in heated discussion, and don't even realize when Chris leaves the room to go watch the football game in the lobby of the dorm. Finally, Amy says goodnight, and steps out into the cold night to head back to her room, when she realizes she's never told Chris. Screw it, she thinks, after all, it's my body, my right, my decision and there's nothing he could say that would change it. She'll go to the clinic first thing, tomorrow morning.

*****

'Amy, you can't be thinking about endorsing Hoynes. Just look at how he's dragging his foot on healthcare and social security. Surely, you're not a one-issue organization.' Josh has definitely lost his cool by now.

'J, I like Bartlet. I've known him since I was a little girl, but still, he can't be running around the country telling women they can't have abortion and expect NOW to endorse him. This issue is non-negotiable.' She tells him avoiding his eyes, staring instead at the photograph of her mother, taken a couple of months before she died of breast cancer 3 years ago.

'He's not talking about reversing Roe v. Wade, Amy. He speaks as a moral leader on the issue…'

'You mean he's passing a moral judgment on women without knowing the circumstances.' Amy can't keep the edge out of her voice.

'Amy, you know him. He's a devout Catholic, of course it affects his world view. But he's always firmly stated that abortion should be safe and it should be legal.'

'Well, that's not enough. It shouldn't be stigmatized from some moral pulpit.' she knows she's taking this personally, but she can't help it.

'Look, I understand that his stance on this bothers some of the liberals and I wish I could change it. But don't forget the other issues; he's for childcare tax credits, he's for paid maternity leave, he'd make a real difference for working mothers, and I don't think you can say the same about Hoynes. And you know Abbey Bartlet better than I do. Wouldn't you rather have an accomplished working mother in the White House than an empty-headed socialite, like Mrs. Hoynes?' Josh cocks an eye-brow at her, which infuriates her even more.

'This is not the issue, J and you know it. We're not voting for a First Lady. Anyways, it's not my decision alone. Obviously, the leadership will weigh in.'

'Yes, but you could make a recommendation. At least hold off on endorsing Hoynes.' he's pleading with her now. 'Mrs. Bartlet is cooking dinner on Thursday up in Manchester for some people. She'll make stew. Come on up, and talk to them, I'm sure we can work something out.'

'I'll think about it, Josh.' she already knows what her recommendation will be, because Josh is right, Jed Bartlet is much better for women, but she's going to let him sweat about it a bit more. 'I hear you're together with Mandy Hampton.' she says as he starts to put on his coat, ready to leave.

'She does some political consulting for us.' he's clearly trying to duck the question.

'So it's her idea to run to the center.' Amy can't keep sarcasm out of her voice. 'She's a gun for hire without principles.'

'She's a political consultant, Amy, she knows how to win.' he counters.

'Don't forget who your friends are, Special J.' she warns him as he heads out the door.

*****

'Did you divorce Mom because she didn't cook stew for you?' Amy asks her father as they are putting the dishes away. They have been celebrating his 60th birthday and his second wife, Caroline has made a deer stew with forest mushrooms.

Her father freezes for a moment and turns to look at her daughter. 'This is what she told you?' he asks with irritation in his voice.

'No, she never really explained it. I heard you guys arguing the night you've left.'

'I've never expected her to cook every night or do housework, you know. But I just didn't feel like she cared anymore. There was something missing, a touch of a woman, that makes a house a home. I don't really know how to explain it, Amy.' he struggles to find the right words. 'Your mother was a wonderful woman, she was driven, ambitious, she did a great job with you girls, she cared about a lot of things, I just wasn't one of them anymore.'

They go back to the living room, where Alice's son, Nicholas jumps onto her. 'Auntie Amy, look what I made.' he waves a strangely knotted balloon in her face.

'That's great, Nicky.' she holds him close and starts humming. She feels a pang of something as she runs a finger through the little boy's silky hair. She wonders, not for the first time, if her child would have been a boy or a girl. In her dreams it's a little girl, with dark hair and big brown eyes. She starts tickling her nephew to chase those thoughts away and soon they are rolling on the rug, giggling.

*****

Life is good, she thinks as she's peeling carrots and potatoes and is humming along to Van Morrison on the radio. Dating Josh has surpassed her expectations. In spite of his claims that he's clueless about dating, he turned out to be an attentive and giving lover. Amy has had her fair share of good sex, but what stands out is the lightness and fun. Josh doesn't take himself too seriously and she can't remember laughing this much in any relationship. He's making the effort of taking her out to fancy restaurants and White House functions, but he seems most content curling up on her bed with her, watching TV, while Henry, thinking it is pack-time wags his tails and tries to wiggle to a spot between them covering them both with drool.

Of course, not all is light and sunshine, there are some sore points, like their living situation, his constant phone chats with his assistant, their aborted trip to Tahiti, but on the balance it's a good relationship. She's taking things in stride, and she enjoys making unexpected moves that throw him off balance. She enjoys the teasing, the 'Keep him guessing' game.

When she sees on TV that a Mets game will be on tonight, she comes up with the plan of surprising him with a night in and a home-cooked meal. He'll be delighted, and she knows there are plenty of good ways for him to express his gratitude. How hard can it be to make a stew she thinks as she cuts her fingers the second time this evening.

*****

She sits there staring at the TV wondering what to say.

She was intrigued at first when she got a call from Matt Santos asking her help with the debate preparations. She wondered if Josh knew about it and if he did, why wasn't he the one calling. She accepted it, because she was curious, she heard the rumors of course: Josh Lyman's career was over; he was taking on a dark horse campaign as a desperate, last-ditch effort to rescue it.

She didn't really know what to expect, but the sadness and loneliness that radiates from him tore at her heart. It is painful to see him in this state, a far cry from the fun she remembered. The lines on his face and around his eyes had become harder, and the twinkle of his eye has disappeared. She didn't know if she wanted to hug him or run away, so she settled for sexual banter, but even that sounded hollow.

After a few hours of working together the inevitable fallout happened; crash and burn has always been their modus operandi. He fired her, Santos begged her to come back, and here she is watching the news contemplating her next move. She's mulling over Josh's words, she knows that he's asking her to stay in the only backhanded way that he's capable of, her heart is still beating faster from the excitement of tying him to that chair and knowing he remembered too that long ago night and the red silk scarf.

And for a moment she's tempted to stay, she could help him, maybe find some money, secure some endorsements. She could get him now, and if they lost, they could disappear for a while, maybe take that trip to Tahiti, lie in bed for days, and finally learn how to cook a hearty stew.

Then she reminds herself that this is not her fight. She's in charge of the Women Majority Fund, overseeing Congress and Senate races, helping as many pro-women candidates win as possible, so even if they lose the White House, there is a last line of defense in place in the legislature. That's her mission and she shouldn't lose sight of the bigger picture for an old flame. Well, maybe not flame, bonfire is more accurate she smiles at the memories. Get a grip, Amy, she hears her mother's voice in her head.

Rescuing Josh is not her responsibility, and what she sees in him, frightens her. There is a new type of darkness there, one she doesn't recognize, but it reminds her of a giant black hole that would swallow her and she feels vertigo. No, it's best to go back to DC as soon as possible, she decides.

*****

She expected it to be weird to work with him every day, to have him as her boss. She didn't think she'd last more than two months before he fires her. She knows he's living together with Donna; that he took her on vacation and she was afraid it would hurt her to see their public display of happiness.

Her fears turn out to be unfounded, although Josh keeps a certain distance, he is polite with her, he mostly lets her do her work as she sees fit and his direct orders sound more like suggestions, though she quickly picks up on the signs when those suggestions are really non-negotiable. He's different somehow, more grown-up, more understated, he has more gravitas, like he's walking into this office every day thinking what Leo would do, and tries to channel him.

Donna is equally polite, she's usually helpful and cooperative when Amy needs the First Lady's help on some legislative initiative. She's also fairly reasonable when it comes to pushing Mrs. Santos' agenda. Amy is actually surprised how quickly she finds her way to balance and compromise. When she first heard about her, she was a bit skeptical about Donna being able to deal with the job, but she's effective and prepared at meetings and she's a good ally.

Amy looks up as the door of her office opens and she sees Josh standing in the doorway.

'Hey, it's 3 a.m. What are you still doing here?' he asks.

'Thinking.'

'About?'

'Life, universe, if there's such thing as karmic retribution?' she's avoiding his eyes.

'You're sitting up at night contemplating metaphysics instead of going home and do whatever civilized forms of entertainment you and your lumberjack like to engage in in the evenings?' he asks and she can hear the smile in his voice without looking up.

'You're here too.' she counters, fidgeting with a little wooden object in her hands.

'Yes, I'm catching up on some things while the First Lady is in Italy.' he shrugs. 'I'm out of coffee at home and here I can just bug Margaret about it.' he jokes. 'Seriously, Amy, go home, get some sleep. You'll have a tough day with the Welfare Bill tomorrow and I need you on the top of your game.

'If I've ever gotten pregnant, would you have wanted to know?' the words just come out of her mouth before she can stop them. She can see he freezes, and looks confused.

'What do you mean, Amy? What is this about?'

'You know my total crackpot day appointment today? It was a men's group. Fathers 4 Families, or something. They wanted information rights for fathers in case of abortions. And I kept thinking if this was somebody's idea of a sick joke…'

'I don't think Margaret really reads the files, she just makes blind dates…'

'The thing Josh, while this guy was talking to me about his unborn child, he had actual tears in his eyes,' she shakes her head as to chase away the image.

'And when you asked me earlier…'

'Would you have wanted to know?'

'Yes. I'd like to think you'd have wanted my input, but I'd have never asked you to do…' he says then his voice cracks 'did you?.. I mean were we ever?'

'No.' she says quickly, and she hears him let out a sigh. 'I got pregnant in law school. I never told Chris about it.' she looks straight in his eyes expecting to see there something, shock, judgment, but all she sees is compassion. They sit in silence for a moment.

'Do you know what's going on with Chris?' he asks finally.

'No. You?'

'No. I never really liked him.'

'Yeah, I know. Me neither.' Amy says with a grimace and they both let out a short laugh. And Amy thinks that whatever moment they missed, whatever they can't be to each other, she really hopes that they can still be friends. Because whatever baggage they have, they are on the same side, fighting the good fight and Josh doesn't give up on people.

'You know, Jeff gave me this last night.' She shows him the small carving.

'What the hell is it? It looks kind of abstract.'

'It's a mother with a baby nestled in her arms. He said that he was working on a bigger sculpture and this piece fell off and when he looked at it, he saw this.'

'And what do you think it means, Amy?'

'I don't know.'

'Yeah, me neither. Art interpretation at 3 a.m. is not my forte, but I hear talking works sometimes.' He says quietly. And then he switches into his mock command voice. 'Home. Now. I'm not kidding. Don't forget, big day tomorrow, with the welfare bill negotiations. I will keep my beloved Blackberry under lock, guarded by two Secret Service agents.' He winks at her and she laughs. 'You know I was really looking forward to trying that stew.'


	9. Food diaries

  
Author's notes: Title: Rusty Nail  
Series: Food Diaries  
Author: BrusselsSprout  
Pair/Rating: J/D, Late Teen  
Spoilers: does it matter at this point?  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing.  
  
Summary: The gomers are in town and Donna goes on a liquid diet.  


* * *

I.

'Rusty Nail, please.' I say to the ash-blond bartender. It's not usual for me to be at noon, in an empty bar. The bartender stares at my red puffy eyes. I glare back at him and sit down at the corner of the bar. I take a sip, enjoying the bittersweet taste on the tip of my tongue. It was Stephanie, who introduced me to the drink on the wild night out when we celebrated getting rid of Phil, that smarmy double-crossing, cheating asshole.

That was also the night I met Rob. That freeloading jerk! I blame it on the booze that at the time I believed that he was charming and brilliant. A medical student with a great future! Poor, stupid, gullible Donna! I thought at the time that we were destined to be together, and he was worth all the sacrifice.

Drop out of college? Sure, why not. Work two jobs to pay the bills? No problem, honey. And what had it gotten me? Four wasted years, a relationship in shambles, arguments that had become more and more frequent and more and more bitter. This morning it has gotten especially nasty. Stupid and narrow-minded were the mildest adjectives he used. He said that he needed someone who could match him intellectually; a smart, accomplished, sophisticated woman who could hold her own in a relationship. Then he got angry that his coffee wasn't ready after he finished showering, he hissed that I was worthless and lazy. What a bastard!

I turn my eyes to the TV, hanging above the bar. They are showing the last Democratic primary debate ahead of the Iowa caucus. I listen to them; Hoynes all confident and a bit condescending with his fake politician smile, Wiley attacking him with a vicious intensity, the other candidates trying to stand out with a funny or clever remark. And then I hear Jed Bartlet, he's a bit hard to follow as he goes on about economic policy, but somehow he sounds honest. Then he speaks about his family and I wish my father was ever this proud of me. Watching the debate reminds me of dropping out of PolSci, because the hours weren't compatible with the part-time secretary job I've found at a dentist office. Rob of course told me that I wouldn't need that degree. He didn't care that I liked it, that I thought it was interesting.

Something a guest speaker from my Politics class said comes in my mind when he talked about his work as a campaign volunteer. He made it sound like a lot of fun, you become part of a team, and you get a chance to make a difference. I make a sudden decision, and Rob can go to hell. I can't waste my life taking care of someone who doesn't value me; I can find somewhere where I'll be valuable, where I can learn and be someone: accomplished, smart and sophisticated. I down my drink and hurry out of the bar; I have so many things to do: go to the bank, pack my bag, call my parents and get on the road before he comes home.

II.

I'm sitting at the same bar. The same ash-blond bartender puts a glass of Rusty Nail down in front of me. As if life stood still in Wisconsin, as if the roller-coaster ride I've been on never happened. Poor stupid Donna! I want to kick myself, but I change my mind when I look at my bandaged ankle resting on the chair. What a jerk!After weeks of begging, I've decided to come back, because well, I don't like defeat, and I have had too much time and money invested in the relationship. In the telephone, Rob had agreed to all my ground rules — I'd go back to college, he'd pitch in the house work. It took me 3 days and 6 hours to figure out that nothing had changed, that nothing ever would. Waiting around in the hospital earlier this afternoon was just the last straw. I know I have to get away. But where could I go? I have no money to speak of.

I'm thinking back with regret to the campaign; in spite of the crazy hours, the endless traveling, the cheap motels and the greasy takeout dinners, I enjoyed it immensely. I loved the energy, the constant excitement, being part of something big, something important. I miss the gang too: Sam, with his geeky charm and movie-star good looks, Toby, with his constant grumping and sarcasm, CJ, with her infectious laugh and her ability to drink the guys under the table, Margaret, who shared her room with me and who was a well of useful information about the work as well as of gossip about everyone. The first person I've ever met who is even more obsessively organized then me. And there is Josh, of course. My heart tugs at the thought of him. He had given me a chance, and I let him down. I think about the disappointment in his eyes when I nervously told him that I would come back to Wisconsin. He didn't argue - but then again he had been distraught since the death of his father - he only told me that I was right about being valuable and that I shouldn't forget that. I wished him good luck, and had walked out the door quickly with tears burning in my eyes.

I stare out the window, thinking that maybe there is a way back. I am ashamed, I hate admitting failure, but I feel that I have to try this; otherwise I'll regret it until the rest of my life. I fish my mobile phone out of my bag, I hesitate for the moment and dial a number. 'Hey, CJ? It's Donna….'

III.

The date is a disaster. I'm shivering in my 'stolen' dress, as our table is right under one of the vents of the air-conditioner. I asked for a Rusty Nail, but Todd mixed it up, and ordered for a whiskey sour. I'm really quite capable of making my own orders, but he somehow thinks it proves his manliness if he… I don't even know or care what he thinks… Whatever… He hasn't really listened to anything I've said anyways; he keeps babbling on about his six-figure salary, his sports car, his career. It is clear to me after 10 minutes that the red dress notwithstanding there is no way in hell I'm going to have sex with this airhead. He doesn't know it though and keeps talking. I could cut it short and go back to the office, but I don't want to give Josh, the Jerk the satisfaction of being right, so I just nod and say 'hhmm' every now and then, but my mind starts to wander off.

I'm still furious with Josh, how dare he! His more assholic than usual remarks about my lack of vibe, my horrible taste in men, and my lack of self-worth just keep circling in her mind like black, menacing birds. And the worst of it is that he is right again; Todd is of course a lousy date, on a 1-10 scale he'd score somewhere in the negatives. I'm wondering if that's really how Josh sees me; a pathetic girl with no self-respect, desperately trying to find a guy, any guy. It may have been who I was once, but I've been starting to be proud of what I've accomplished, I started to build myself up again.

Was this the same Josh who called me valuable in an old leather-bound book? My best friend for whom I prayed for hours in the hospital? The same guy I visited every day for months while he was recovering? Whose hand I held sometimes, when he was in too much pain (not that we'll ever talk about that — it's filed under the folder: Moments We Shall Never Mention Again)? After all the meals, and movies and stories we shared? Or was that all just an act and this was really what he was thinking?

'Donna' Todd's voice is breaking my chain of thought. 'We are waiting for your order.' I realize that I am still holding the menu, but haven't really read any of it.

'I'll just have a soup. And could you bring me another one of these, please?' I point to my empty glass. I really need some more booze if I'm going to sit here any longer.

Todd starts into another soliloquy about his favourite restaurants, and my mind switches back immediately to obsessing about Josh's remarks. I should have come back with something wittier than Deputy Downer. Unfortunately it was either that or throwing my resignation in his face, but I knew that I couldn't leave. Not now, not so shortly after I'd almost lost him.  
It's not like he hasn't said thoughtless things before, he does it all the time, after all his mouth is not always connected to his brain; it's one of those traits that make Josh who he is. And I usually try to give back as good as I get. But this was different: his remark was meant to hurt. I know he has this in him, the killer instinct of finding his adversaries weak spots and delivering verbal jabs and strikes with ruthless precision. This is one of those talents that make him so effective in his job. I realize suddenly what's bothering me: he has never used it before against me; he has never been cruel, not like this. My stomach flips with worry, something is off. What if this is something else? What if there is something wrong with Josh? I mutter an excuse to Todd about some work-related emergency, down my second drink and head back to the office.

IV.

I enter my apartment, the crime-scene, and I immediately start replaying in my mind the motion picture of my one-stand with Cliff. I'm still clutching my leather-bound diary, the smoking gun proof. I've never felt this cheap, dirty, and stupid at the same time. I hate Cliff for putting me in this position and I hate Josh for having the power to make me feel this way. What a pair of jerks, I really need a drink or more until I'm so numb that I don't feel anything anymore.

I used to feel valuable and competent. Now I feel naked, humiliated and exposed in a way I didn't when I made love with Cliff. Love? Who am I kidding? There was no love involved — not even all that much desire. It was purely carnal — something fun to take my mind off of this MS mess, the endless hours at work, the stress, the bad mood. Just some way to release the anger and the disappointment that I felt about the President's lie (yes, even assistants can feel betrayed, and nobody apologized to us), to deal with the pain over Mrs Landingham's death, to take a breath and have a moment that wasn't about the White House. But no, I can't even have a moment of fun without paying for it dearly.

Now Cliff knows all those raw thoughts, feelings and rants that I couldn't share with anyone. He had no right knowing about my anger, my fears, my forbidden longings and my secrets. And that's only half of the story.

The other half is of course Josh. Or maybe the whole story is Josh; it has become hard to tell the difference lately. His disappointment, his anger, his disapproval are the worst to bear. Josh has become such a good friend that it has been easy to forget that first and foremost he is my boss, and that there is an enormous power gap between us. The way he looked at me when he said 'You can go home', that quiet, menacing voice — I take his bellowing any day over that. What right did he have to make me feel like I betrayed him? I can date whomever I want.

I can't help it though, in my heart I do feel like a worthless traitor. I'm on my third glass of Rusty Nail and in my booze-hazed head I'm coming up with fantasies of resigning, of leaving this mess behind. That's my modus operandi — if it gets too tough, I run. But I know that I'm not going to do it, because he wouldn't understand. Quitting would be the ultimate sin in his eyes. He just kept my farm-girl ass out of jail, so I owe him big again. I'm sick and tired of owing him, because it makes it harder to call him out on his shit, but it's my fault after all, I can even screw up something as simple as a one-night stand. I ruined our we-dont-know-what-this-is-but-lets-call-it-a-friendship just to get laid, when I knew from the start that it would piss him off. Maybe I wanted to piss him off. Cliff was kind of cute, but really not worth it. I have to fix this. I have no idea how yet, but I'm going to fix this.

V.

I squirm in the elegant restaurant with the white satin table cloth, tall crystal glasses, elegant Christmas decoration, and the menu written entirely in French wondering why I'm feeling so miserable.

The maÏ®tre comes to take our drink orders and I'm tempted to order a Rusty Nail to match my sullen mood, but I'm not sure if it is appropriate. I look at Jack questioningly, who suggests champagne for both of us. I'm trying to smile and enjoy it, because really, when a girl is on well-deserved dream get-away in a beautiful and exclusive chalet, with a dashing Navy officer, she really shouldn't be wishing that she was back in Washington getting drunk with her boss in the back of a crummy bar, engrossed in the easy back-and-forth of an innuendo-laden conversation that will lead nowhere. Or think that maybe this would be that night when we would take a taxi back to his place and order Chinese take-out and watch old black-and-white movies snuggled up on the couch, pretending that it was normal, that this was something 'friends' did. But there it is; that's what I'm wishing for.

Being with Jack has led me to some realisations with scary conclusions. Because here is a guy, who is decent, good-looking, who values me and takes me out on fancy dates, the kind I used fantasise about and I'd still prefer to be with Josh. Sure, I still label it as friendship, but really, if I'm honest with myself, I know that it's something entirely different. When did my light and fun crush on my dorky boss turn into this painful, angst-filled love? I can't pinpoint a moment, there was no switch. I've tried to hide it, I've tried to fight it, I've tried to convince myself that it makes no sense, that it's never going to work out. Even if Josh wanted it to. But does he want to? He's always been the sender of mixed signals. Really, mixed signals should be his middle name. But lately, his carefully built —up front has started to crumble as well. 'It's not what it looks like.' What the hell, Josh? And when I work up the courage to get a straight answer out of him, he just gets defensive and stone-walls me. Of course, I get it. It would look bad. I'm not as oblivious to the special nature of our relationship and the ensuing rumours as I pretend to be. And I know Josh isn't either. From the outside we are the Washington clichÏ©: the powerful and youthful looking boss and his young ditzy blond secretary. Those outsiders wouldn't know or care that it's more complicated than that.

So what's next? We couldn't have a relationship, not an open one. Not in this situation, but maybe we should talk, maybe we could figure something out. For now though Josh seems hell-bent on sticking to the familiar formula, to continue the endless dance around each other. He doesn't seem to realize that we've outgrown that script.

Sometimes I wonder if it's because he thinks that dating me would be beneath him. After all, he comes from upper middle-class, with considerable wealth, with expensive education; he is used to dating women with power and influence, like Amy and Mandy. All the egalitarian rhetoric aside, he's quite the snob. Maybe I'm ok just for fun, but not someone he'd consider seriously. Yeah, this is becoming too depressing…

Maybe I should try harder with Jack, after all, maybe this is it, a relationship with a future, and to hell with Josh and his innuendos and his indecision.

VI.

I've never wanted a drink so badly in my life. I'm lying here on the hospital bed, hooked up to chords and machines. My head is in a constant haze from the drugs I'm getting. I feel grubby, tired, vulnerable. Isn't it ironic that this would be the time I have two screwed up guys competing for my hand. Figuratively speaking, of course. Because I have no idea why they are here. I wasn't really surprised to see Josh, but I still don't know why Colin is here. Did he think that it was more than a one-night stand? Maybe under other circumstances I'd enjoy the attention. But right now in this state, the testosterone-induced tension is more than I can take. Since I don't have the choice of running away from it, I have to make them leave. It's hard to have a conversation though, as either they're both sitting here, now mom is also here, plus the nurses come and go constantly.

Josh comes in from the corridor after yet another lenghty phone call, I guess the situation has escalated, clearly the White House is in crisis mode. I grab the opportunity, as mom and Colin are not in the room.

'Josh.'

'How are you?'

'I'm fine. You need to go back to the White House. Leo needs you.' I try my most commending voice. It doesn't come out right. I still sound droggy.

'You need me more.' he retorts.

'I need rest. My mum is here, she's already drining me crazy with her fussing, and if I add to that you and Colin buzzing around... You can't sit here feeding me German chocolate cake when the White House is in crisis mode.'

'Why? You would be.'

'well, I'm not White House Chief of Staff. Seriously Josh, I'll be fine.' I stare at him pleadingly.

''Kay, if that's what you want.' he's looking at me searchingly.

'I'll see you in DC when they let me out.' He nods and hesitantly starts go gather his things. Then he stands next to my bed a little crestfallen, a bit unsure what to do. I take his hand and give it a small squeeze. 'Josh, thanks. You know... for... being here.' I whisper quietly. He lets out a breath.

'Take care, Donna. And call me if your IRA boyfriend is annoying you too much.' Then he leaves. I close my eyes for a moment. Maybe I should have cleared that up, but I have no energy to deal with Josh's insecurities right now.

One down, one to go. I get lucky, as mom goes back to the hotel to take a shower and to change.

'Colin...'

'Yes sweetheart?' he flashes out his best charming smile, and I momentarily wish that we'd have met somewhere else, under different circumstances.

'You should leave, go back to work. I'm feeling fine and mom is here to take care of me now. I really... appreciate...'

'Hey, are you kicking me out leaving me all heartbroken?' his voice is overdramatic, and he smiles a little.

'It was a pleasure to meet you.'

'And you too, Donnatella. I hope you and your guy work it out.'

'His not my guy, Colin.' I protest weakly.

'I think you both know better than that sweetheart. Anyway, don't let him take you for granted...'

'Goodbye.' I smile at him.

He kisses me on the lips lightly and walks out of the room. I guess I should feel sad, but instead all I feel is relief.

VII.

I shouldn't be drinking. The shrink I've seen in the hospital said that much, but I don't really know how to be with myself anymore. The last few months — really, it was just too much to process. The realisation that Jack wasn't quite the shining knight, he had no trouble taking advantage of me, when it came to it. Ok, I did offer, but he should have refused. Josh would have refused to let me take the fall for him.

And Josh… yeah, well, I can't take it anymore. I can't take this crazy pendulum of emotions, ranging between 'You look amazing' to not acknowledging my existence. Mom thinks that coming to Germany was the manifestation of something, some grand emotion, and I've almost believed it. But Mom doesn't get Josh like I do. Guilt is his drug of choice. It fits perfectly into his self-centered universe; everything revolves around him, ergo if something bad happens it must be his fault. Guilt brought him to Germany, and now we're back to ignoring the elephant, like we have always done, and will always do.

I've lost too much. I used to wake up with energy, I used to go to work excited, but lately I can hardly drag myself out of bed, I am irritated and bored at work and I get frequently angry. I can't help but wonder if everyone in the White House pities me, the little, stupid, pathetic, lovelorn girl that sticks around because of Josh, like CJ said. I've put my life on hold for him, and where has it gotten me? Blown up, hurt, and stuck in more ways than one. Maybe CJ was right, I do need to get away from him and take responsibility for myself. Tear away like a bandage.

I know it's not the right time. Josh is in all kinds of hell, because of Leo, because of the COS thing. He doesn't really show it, but I can see through him, it's eating him away. But when was it the right time? I just have to leave…to preserve my sanity, what's little is left of my dignity and self-worth.

VIII.

I scan the hotel lobby and find Will sitting at the bar. I sit down next to him and order a drink.

'Hey, Donna! Good work today' he says. I can't contain my anger anymore so I explode at him.

'This is why you brought me on board? To trot me out in front of Josh? To taunt him? Is this my value to the campaign?' In the back of my brain I realize that I sound a bit hysterical. Still, today was unnerving. I got away from the White House to reinvent myself, to focus on work, to get away from Josh. I'm not going to let Will use me this way...

'Hey, calm down. Of course, your insight into his mind is valuable to us...'

'I have no insight and even if I had no way in hell I'm ratting him out, Will. You can't expect me...' I hiss.

'Let me finish, Donna... That's not why I hired you.' he finishes.

'I don't want to do this again. You can't ask me.' I guess I should be more respectful with my new boss, but then again I know things. He kept a goat in his office for God's sake. I should know it, I helped putting it there... 'I'm doing my best for the campaign but I don't want to be part of this underhanded tactics. I won't betray my...' I'm suddenly at loss for words. My what?

'Your what?' parrots Will the thought from my head. 'Donna, if you're with us, you have to want to be here.'

'It's not like that, Will. Of course, I want us to win. But I've learnt everything I know from Josh.'

'And he taught you well. But now you are ready. You don't owe him anything, Donna.' I nod, but the doubt remains. You're on the wrong campaign. What if he's right again?

IX.

After we get to New York, the Congressman, Josh, Lou, and the others head out to the Al Smith dinner. Not surprisingly, I'm not among the invited, so I stay behind in the hotel, waiting in the lobby. I don't have a room; Advance didn't know about me. The desk told me maybe in a couple of hours they would have something.

Not having a better idea, I sit at the bar; order a drink, and start wondering if I still have a job. When Lou had called me a couple of days ago on behalf of the Santos campaign, I assumed that Josh was behind it somehow, that maybe he had regretted rejecting me before. So I was completely blindsided when he trotted sulking into the hotel room behind Lou, and started spouting out interview questions as if we had been total strangers. That was high up there on the asshole scale, even for Josh.

I keep hearing the anger and disbelief in his voice 'You ditched me!'. At least this time we talked, well yelled at each other, instead of the forced polite, I-have-a-perfectly-reasonable-excuse-not-to-hire you bullshit. No, I still don't want to think about that other interview, I don't want to cry in the public lobby, full of campaign staff. I can't believe how badly I had miscalculated Josh, I had thought everything was fixed after the nominating convention, that he had understood and accepted my reasons. But of course not, he's vindictive, and that interview there must have topped the list of the most humiliating experiences in my life. Which by the way is a long list, and the top 10 items probably have to do with Josh. Karen Cahill, anyone?

But now at least it's out there in the light of day that he still holds a grudge. Of course, I should have known that. You have to get Josh. He doesn't leave people. Yeah well, that Donna, the naÏ¯ve girl I used to be, she knew that leaving him would hurt him beyond professional loss. It would hurt him on a personal level. In that hidden place deep beneath the layers of arrogance, over-confidence and inflated ego, where a scared little boy had buried his fears of abandonment a long time ago. Maybe this Donna knew that too. Maybe I just wanted to hurt somebody the way I was hurting, maybe I wanted to be seen, to be acknowledged.

I thought I wanted a clean start, but something keeps bringing me back to Josh. In a way it's logical; if you want to be someone in Democratic politics, there is really no way around Josh. I've always joked how powerful he was, but now I'm acutely aware how serious that is. If he's really that vindictive, I don't have a future in the party. But somehow I don't think that. He holds grudges, but he's not petty, not like that. This is personal, the jabs will be kept on a personal level. At least, I hope.

And I hope that things will improve. Hope is a sneaky bitch, you send her out the door and she climbs through the window. Of course, so far, there has been little improvement if any at all; it was hardly discernible over the hostility. Josh still doesn't talk directly to me, but at least he acknowledges my presence. Sometimes he even seems to listen to what I have to say.

Thinking of the devil… I don't have to turn my head to know that he's standing behind me. I recognize his footsteps, his scent, and the way he croaks a little before speaking.

'Donna' his voice is soft. As I turn, all thought escapes my brain momentarily - Josh in a tuxedo has always been a special sight. I look at his flawlessly tied bowtie, and I feel unreasonably disappointed. Josh has probably guessed that thought, because I see the ghost of a smirk on his face. It's only there for a moment, but it means the world to me. I've made an art of interpreting anything as a Sign. In my head, there is a parallel universe where our real story is told, the story that we hide behind the symbols and parables in this reality. You know, like those medieval stories about roses and stuff, which are really about sex... Ok, better not to think about sex right now.

The smile disappears and I feel my stomach flip as I brace myself for a new rejection. I school my features into a thin smile. He still doesn't say anything. 'How did the dinner go?' I ask finally.

'The Congressman did really well.' he answers without warmth in his voice. There is another awkward pause, and I grow even more nervous. When did we forget how to talk to each other? 'Well, about your situation… Lou's… hmm… the congressman agreed that you could be a valuable addition to the team.' He sounds tired and still doesn't look at me. I want to shake him and scream, and what do you want, Josh? But of course I don't, so I wait for him to continue. 'Anyway, I asked the advance guys to prepare your paperwork and find you a room' he finishes handing me an envelope. 'You'll answer directly to Lou and you'll be mostly on Mrs Santos' team to start with. Your schedule is in there.' He finishes and turns to leave without looking at me. I'm confused. I can't really interpret the signs here.

'Josh' my voice comes out only in a whisper, but he still hears me over the noise of the bar. I hesitate for a moment, not really knowing what to say. Maybe he expects an apology, but I still think I was right to leave. I'm not going to apologize for thinking about myself for the first time in my life. Ok, maybe I was a bit wrong too, I shouldn't have left like that. We were both right, we were both wrong and certainly we are both miserable. It would be a long discussion I'm not prepared to have, not right now, maybe never.

'Thanks' I say finally. It's not really an apology, but it'll have to do for now. 'I didn't ditch you, Josh. I quit my job. There is a difference.' I add.

He finally looks at me straight in the eye, and all I can think of is how I have missed him. We stand there for a moment, looking at each other. His eyes are serious at first, and then I see them transform, there is a twinkle. I know that I'm in for some mocking...

'Well, at least I know what I'm getting you for Christmas.'

'It will be a spatula, won't it?'

'Maybe one of those white floppy hats. I think you'll look fabulous in them. He grins and walks away.

I open the envelope and find a key-card for my room, a Santos campaign badge, and a contract valid until Election Day. I flip through the pages and notice the date next to his familiar signature; my heart flips; he signed it already yesterday. And I understand it now, it was a gesture, he took me back… again… I feel a moment of irritation, but it's replaced almost instantly by relief and maybe happiness. As I go into my hotel room, which is really the same type of hotel room than the ones I've spent the better part of last year in, I have an overwhelming feeling that I'm home.

X.

I'm alone in CJ's apartment, she's doing an all-nighter, no doubt with Danny. I'm really not that stupid, but I let her get away with her lie, she lets me get away with mine. We are not fooling anyone. I guess it's way too complicated for both of us, not really ripe material for girl talk yet. So while she's away working out the kinks of the relationship, so to speak, I'm raiding her booze cabinet. We went through all the wine the other night on our private wake, so I'm stuck with the hard liqueur. Not that I mind.

This is the first time that I'm really alone and not totally exhausted to even think since Election night. I had no time to really process what has happened or come up with a strategy on how to go on. It has certainly complicated everything, things have become awkward but it was definitely worth it. If nothing else for the expression on Josh's face when I slipped him the key — I think I caught him off balance then, or weeks later on the way up to his room in the elevator when it dawned on him that we are really going to do this.

But honestly after he kissed me there was no way I would let it go. I quickly realized when he started to backpedal that if it's going to happen, I have to make it happen. And it was a liberating feeling. And on the eve of Election Day, it felt like I was sitting at the edge of the end of the world. If we lost, we may go our separate ways, and I'd regret for the rest of my days. So I decided to change the script, to stop the banter and put on the moves. It felt surreal, I was afraid that I'd crack up either hysterically laughing or crying, because it was Josh after all, and his familiarity with the unfamiliar situation was unnerving. What if he doesn't really want me, asked the other Donna, the one without the self-confidence. I told her to shut up and went ahead with my plan.

And it was amazing, not in a syrupy girl-fiction way where the heroine dissolves into a breathless orgasm from the first touch of her beloved. Because really, we were still us, Josh and Donna, nervous, unsure and a bit fumbling, but I've never in my life made love to anyone with this much build-up, this much passion, this much trust. It was another dimension.

Of course afterwards, we both lost our nerve, and we tried to play it cool, well, as it turned out I was playing it cooler. My idiot-boy got totally confused, maybe he didn't think he was good enough, and anyway, it was Josh on an Election Day, which is an especially high-wired version of himself. So I took pity on him and took him for round 2. I smile at the memory (I made him blush in the elevator, when I whispered to him, that I've been wanting to do this for the last two elections when he was running around throwing a nutty...) Finally, after all these months of misery, we could giggle together.

Not that it lasted long. I feel the tears in my throat as I think of Leo, of the shock, the grief, Josh's pain. The tears he cried while everyone was celebrating and it was just the two of us in the room. He didn't hide it from me and that was new, because I've never really seen him cry before. It was frightening and touching, he was raw, open and vunerable — so I just held him until dawn sensing that that was what he wanted. The next day he flew back to DC, while I stayed a couple of days in Texas with Mrs Santos. He called every once in a while but he mostly talked business, sometimes about the funeral arrangements. We talked for a while about him needing a deputy, and we both said Sam at once. But then he told me that Santos hadn't really offered him chief of staff yet, so he wasn't sure where they stood. Of course, that's typical Josh to doubt it. But I got it — he was still uncomfortable with the position that in his head was rightfully Leo's.

Anyway, that also explained a bit why we didn't talk about what my job would be. It didn't explain however, why we didn't talk about where I was going to stay when I got back to Washington for the funeral. I was a bit hurt, because I didn't know if he simply forgot or just wasn't comfortable with the idea of me in his apartment and its consequences. Maybe he needed space to figure it out, I thought. I waited as long as I could, but I didn't want to leave it at the last minute to try to find somewhere to sleep. That's why I asked CJ if I could crash at her place. Of course, proving his terrible timing, shortly after that he asks me if I want to use my key — what was that even about? Why was my key even a question? If he wanted to have sex with me, he needed to be home anyway to let me in. He's so clueless sometime… So I blame him for 4 people ending up spending a miserable night in their respective beds. I'm sure CJ and Danny are blaming me though.

I'm still proud that I've held my ground. It was my sign for him to decipher — I've made all my moves, and it's his turn. And he did make a move. OK, maybe the timing was terrible yet again, after all I was in the middle of a meeting with the soon-to-be first lady, who probably had heard the gossips about me and Josh (I'm going to kill Edie and Ronna) judging from the slightly amused look on her face. But I was too elated and relieved to care. He called me, he wanted to talk. At some point. That last bit worries me a bit though. Still it was a step, he deserves some encouragement. And I really want to have some more sex with Josh. Lots of it. As soon as possible. So why am I sitting alone in an empty apartment?

I look at the clock, it's almost 10 pm. His plane should have landed about half an hour ago. If I call a taxi now, I might catch him before he passes out.

XI.

The gentle sea breeze tickles my skin as I sit on the terrace with a drink enjoying the breath-taking view. It's a piece of paradise, something I've only seen on pictures before. I should be elated, so many things have happened. First, there is the job offer from Mrs Santos.

I still can't believe it! After all, I have no degrees, no pedigree really for that sort of job. I don't know if I'd be able to do it well. In some ways it'd be a perfect solution, because I'd be in the White House, but not under Josh, I could still keep an eye out for him from the distance. But taking a job just because it would be best for a relationship … when that relationship has yet to be defined…

And I'm not complaining, because it's not like it hasn't been amazing; lots of sex, some rest, more sex - what else would a girl want. But I'm still not sure what Josh is thinking. I'm not sure where we will stand once we go back to the grey reality of Washington. I know that coming with me on a vacation in the middle of transition is a monumental declaration from Joshua Lyman, I'm on the trip he never took Amy on. So I'm not sure what else I'm waiting for, big declarations are not his style.

On cue he appears in the doorway and blinks in the sunlight as he leans on the frame. His outfit consist of a pair of boxer shorts and his hair is sticking up in all directions; I guess he figured out that it's a look I always fall for.

'Isn't it too early to be drinking?' he starts with the mocking.

'It's already 5 pm, sleepyhead.'

'Did I sleep that long? Why did you let me sleep that long? I've got better things to do…' he emphasizes the last bit by coming closer and starting to kiss my neck, and I start to lose my chain of thought, 'and I definitely prefer waking up with you in the bed…' he finishes. 'We have to keep doing that.' Ok, that sounds like he's asking me to move in with him in his roundabout, sideways manner…but I don't think this time I'm going to let him get away with an innuendo, so I push him a bit.

'There are three more mornings left.' I smile back at him. He looks a bit taken aback.

'Well, what I meant was… that we could keep doing this in DC too…every morning…' it's like pulling teeth, but it's finally out.

'Every morning that you're not spending in the office?' I ask teasingly, but he suddenly looks serious and a bit sad.

'Donna, I'd like to do this right, but I don't know if I can. I mean you know what the job is like, and it's what I worked for all my life, and it's probably the most important thing that I'll ever do, but on the other hand, the last couple of days made me wonder if… if it's sacrificing too much. And I don't want to lose you. I'd like to try and make this work.' He looks so lost.

'Me too, Josh. And don't worry, I know what it's like, and I'm sure that you're going to be amazing. You were born to do it.' and I mean it.

'Thanks… ' He smiles back at me. 'So you're moving in with me? I'd like that.'

'I'd like that too, Josh.' I can see him relax a bit…'I'm still not bringing you coffee though.'

'Fine.' he smirks. Then he gets serious again, 'And you? Are you taking the job? Or is there any way I can persuade you to come work for me instead?'

'I don't know. I'm not sure I'm ready for it.'

'You are ready. You've been ready for a long time, Donna. And Helen is right, she needs someone exactly like you in that job. You are competent, smart, well-organized, well-connected. You'll be able to keep her sane when things get rocky — you've always done that for me.' My smile grows wider. Once upon a time, I would have given anything for a validation like this from him. I've grown a lot since, but it's still nice to hear it. I reward him with a wide smile.

'There is no conflict of interest there? What if I try to unduly influence you to get you to make the President do what the First Lady wants him to do.' I ask playfully drawing little circles on his chest. His eyes light up immediately with that mischievous glow that I love so much. After successfully navigating ourselves through the treacherous waters of the beginning of the Talk, we are both relieved to be back on familiar ground.

'I think Mrs Santos can already make the President-Elect do whatever she wants, but I'd be really interested in the practical details of the undue influence… You know… purely research…'

'You want to move the research indoors?' I ask suggestively.

'Let's go' he jumps up so quickly that he knocks off the table my glass of Rusty Nail.


End file.
